The Nativity
by Desmothenes87
Summary: A famous painting "The Nativity" thought to be destroyed years ago, reappears in New York. With the mob anxious to get their hands on this priceless work of art what could possibly go wrong? Plus, Peter has to solve the case while finding the perfect Christmas present for his wife. Chapter 16: Christmas Day at the Burkes. Plus Chapter 17: Kramer heads back to DC.
1. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**A/N:** This story continues on in my Hidden Dragon verse. This first chapter is just some fluff between Peter and Ender, but the primary plot will revolve around an actual case that be introduced in the next chapter. So even if the first chapter isn't your cup of tea, at least read through the second because that is where the story will pick up.

Since Ender's not a cannon character I'll put this at the beginning. Not everything about Ender might make sense because I created him separately and then wrote him into my favourite show. He is meant to be this mix between precocious child prodigy (like the character in the book Ender's Game) and a traumatised kid.

For my next story I am considering writing one that explains Ender better, but that will delve into some crossovers and a bit of fantasy. It will also explain some stuff from Hidden Dragon that probably didn't make sense, like why Neal spoke Latin to Ender at the museum, or about the nickname Nealcen. I personally think it's a pretty neat melding of a lot of awesome shows and other stories, but I honestly don't know what other people will think since it will be rather AU, and will touch on some themes people might not like.

That said, I hope readers enjoy this story...

* * *

**The Most Wonderful Time of the Year**

It was December 1st and the official countdown till Christmas had begun. All around New York City decorations were being put up, Christmas carols could be heard in stores and on the radio, and people were getting an early start to their holiday shopping. Even the FBI's NYC field office was celebrating by putting up a tree in the lobby, complete with blinking lights and tinsel.

For most people Christmas was a time to think about spending time with family and friends. For other's it was a time to think about the best excuse needed to avoid the in-laws. For Agent Peter Burke of the White-Collar division, Christmas meant one thing. Finding the perfect Christmas present for his wife. Not that she was picky. Quite the contrary, if there was any woman who was tolerant of her husband's imperfections it would be El Burke. But because she was so special and understanding she deserved the perfect present, and Peter was determined to find it.

In past years, the agent relied on numerous different techniques to discover the ideal gift, and some worked better than others. One year he had actually braved the crowds and went shopping with her, hoping she would drop a hint as they perused the stores together. That year he had scored with a beautiful pair of diamond earrings, but he also suspected El knew what he was doing and took pity on his awkwardness by dropping an over-obvious hint. (_Oh, honey those are beautiful, diamonds go with everything._)

Because Christmas crowds weren't really his thing the following year he called El's mother. What he considered the single biggest mistake of his life.

El loved both her parents deeply, but after meeting them, Peter often wondered how how his wonderful wife had turned out so perfect and normal. An hour on the phone listening to Mrs Mitchell talk about the matching baby booties she knitted for the neighbour's twins he decided he'd rather let Neal take him out suit shopping.

But this year Peter had the perfect plan to snag his gift, one that El would never suspect. Another minute and there it was, the knock on his office door.

"Come in," the agent called, setting his papers down in a neat pile in the middle of his desk.

A pair of huge blue eyes peaked around the door. "Did I do something wrong, because I swear the plastic mouse in Agent Ruiz's lasagna was a complete accident. I only put it there for a minute to hid from Agent Davis's cat." Ender still hadn't stepped into the office yet, as if worried he was about to be read the riot act.

"The what?" Peter looked bewildered then decided he was better off not knowing. "You're not in trouble, I just wanted to ask you to do something for me."

Ender still looked suspicious, but he eased in to the room and cautiously crept towards the chair opposite Peter's desk. Sometimes the kid was the perfect child, all smiles and polite conversation, and other times he was a nervous wreck, tiptoeing around like he expected the other shoe to drop. Which most of the time it probably had.

"You're not in trouble," Peter repeated. "In fact, come here." He beckoned with his hand. Ender watched for a moment like he thought he might be slapped, but obediently came forward. He usually wouldn't refuse anything that sounded like a direct order.

When the kid was close enough Peter reached forward and pulled Ender into his lap, wrapping his arms around the kid and cuddling him. Ender's therapist had recommended holding him like an infant as a way of bonding. Attachment of therapy, or something like that. Sometimes he would accept it, and other times he wouldn't, but today he seemed all right with curling up. And of course the thumb went into his mouth.

They were working on stopping this behaviour, but Peter ignored it for the moment since this other task was too important. "How's the filing going with Agent Barrow's?"

Ender kept his thumb in his mouth, but turned so he could look at the agent's face, the kid's expression broadcasting, _Seriously_.

Suddenly he pulled his thumb out. "You said I could learn how to be an FBI agent. I already know my ABCs, I want to arrest criminals."

"You are learning," Peter told him. "Filing is an important aspect of an agent's job. If you don't know where things are, how can you solve a case."

Ender puckered his lips. "But you promised I could go to the firing range and shoot your gun. That's fun. Even Agent Barrows said filing is boring,and 'Beneath my pay grade'." He parroted. Peter made a note to pull Agent Barrows aside and kill him.

"I said I would think about it, and if you're good I will. And don't listen to Agent Barrows anymore, he's a transfer from Organised Crime, and doesn't know what he's talking about. Besides I have something better for you to do. A secret mission." Peter tried to put an air of mystery into his voice.

Ender stuck his thumb back in his mouth for a second considering what Peter had said. Then he pulled it back out. At least he was getting better about remembering not to talk around the thumb. "Firsts, I'm not a baby, so don't talk to me that way. And I don't work for the CIA rights now, I thought I was working for the FBI." And the thumb was back again.

"Spooks aren't the only one who get secret missions." Peter reached up and pulled the thumb back out again. "Now pay attention, this is important. There's even a reward for completing the mission on time." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill. "See this. Meet Mr. Benjamin Franklin."

The kid reached out for the bill, but Peter held it out of his reach. Ender turned to glare and then went back to sucking on his thumb. How he could that and pout at the same time Peter didn't know, but the kid was way too successful at both.

"Stop sulking, now pay attention and Mr. Franklin will be all years." He waved the bill up and down a bit and smiled as the kid's eyes followed it.

Ender looked like he was considering what Peter was saying when suddenly he spit his thumb out and looked up with eyes wide as saucers. "You want me to kill someone?"

"What?" The agent sputtered. "No! When did I ever say that?"

"You're offering me _monies_ for a secret job." There was that duh expression again, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world to everyone except Peter.

"I'm not asking you to kill anyone."

"You want me to buy drugs?" Ender's face was still puzzled and horrified.

"Oh for the love of…" Peter cut himself off to keep from swearing. "You've been watching way too much primetime television. In fact you're TV watching privileges are officially suspended."

"Then what do you want me to do?" Peter never made any sense. Why else did an adult who worked for the government offer money to someone if not for a hit or to buy illegal drugs? Ender was just about to bite the bullet and ask if Peter wanted to spend a night with someone other than mom when Peter saved him the trouble.

"I want you to find out what El wants for Christmas."

The kid's face was all scrunched up. "Like for a present?"

"Yes, I need to buy her the perfect present, and it's your job to figure out what that is so I can get it for her. You do that, and you and Benjamin here will be getting better acquainted." Peter snapped the bill a few times to emphasize his point.

Ender twisted around on Peter's lap. "But why don't you just ask her?"

Why couldn't this kid make anything easy? He was a genius after all, how hard was this to understand. "Because then it wouldn't be a surprise. Which is the whole point of giving a Christmas present."

The kid was clearing thinking this over because his face was all scrunched up. "You don't know what mom wants for Christmas?" He looked down then back up again. "Why not?"

"It's not that I don't know, I just… want to know what she wants you know… the best," Peter tried. "And you'll forfeit this if you tell her what you're up to." He waved the bill around.

"So you wants me to ask her what she wants without telling her why I want to know?"

"NO, you're not supposed to ask her directly," Peter practically shouted then felt bad for scaring the kid. "Listen," he scooted Ender around so he was facing Peter with his little legs dangling down on either side of the agents. "'Think of it as an undercover mission, like I sometimes send my agents on.

They observe the target, and look for clues to learn things about the person. You have to look for clues that might tell you what mom wants. For example if she takes you shopping and mentions something about how pretty a necklace looks. That might be a clue that she likes it. See what I mean?"

Ender nodded up and down. "Find out what mom wants without telling her what mom wants. And tell you and then you give me monies to buy anything I want." The thumb was back in his mouth and he began swinging his legs back and forth.

Peter ran his fingers through the kid's hair, then kissed him on the forehead. "Good. I know you'll do a great job kiddo."

The kid sucked harder on his thumb for a moment, his clue that he was accepting the affection, but still a bit uncertain by Peter's motives. Rebecca had after all used cuddling as manipulation and he was still trying to figure out when an adult did it because they wanted something bad, or just because they cared. "If I do a good job will you take me to the firing range?"

"You can shoot three clips." Peter held up his fingers. Ender looked satisfied, because he suddenly smiled and threw his arms around the agent's neck.

The kid was just about to say something else when there was a knock at the door and Diana walked in. "Boss, I got something you really should see right now."

* * *

**A/N**: I'll introduce the case next chapter, but I thought this was a fun start. Considering we had at least two episodes where Peter had difficulty selected a gift for El I thought Christmas would be hard as well.


	2. Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

**A/N:** Sorry it has taken so long to update. This story is proving a lot harder to write than the first, the plot just won't quite flow, but I'm hoping to have the next chapter up soon. I think I have a better idea now of where I want this story to go, but time will tell. Thanks so much to everyone who left reviews for the first chapter, you are awesome.

I hope people enjoy this chapter. It sets things up for the rest of the story.

* * *

**Santa Claus Is Coming To Town**

When Peter arrived in White Collar's conference room behind Diana, his other agents had already assembled around the table. Some senior agents might take offence to a junior agent organising things without the boss's say so, but in Peter's mind the best junior agents anticipated his needs and acted accordingly.

One of Peter's hands grasped firmly to Ender's so the kid couldn't disappear to god knows where in the building. For some reason, whenever he brought Ender into work, the kid refused to stay put and Peter decided it was safer to let him be with the agents, then left to his own devices.

He and El were still sorting through school and other childcare arrangements so for now the kid spent most of his time with either Peter or El at their jobs. Peter was completely surprised when Hughes gave his okay to bring the kid to work, but the agent wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, as the saying went.

Predictably, when Peter let go of his hand, Ender sidled off to sit by Neal, and the two of them began communicating in some sort of series of hand signals and facial expressions that the agent didn't even try to understand. As long as the building was still standing at the end of the day Peter had learned to not ask questions.

Although he took his spot at the head of the table, Peter waited for Diana to tell the group what the meeting was about.

The female agent slid folders over to everyone and then opened hers. "One of our sources recently gave us Intel that a very famous work of art is coming up for sale on the black market here in New York."

"Which painting?" Peter asked, opening his own folder.

"Our source said it's Caravvagio's "Nativity." Diana held up a picture of the painting showing Mary and several men all kneeling around an infant. with an angel hovering overhead. Holding with the classical style of art in Caravvagio's day, the figures were dressed in clothes more reminiscent of the artist's lifetime, instead of the time period the scene would have taken place in. Regardless of this, the piece was still captivating.

"The Nativity," Neal repeated Diana's words a look of disbelief and excitement warring on his face at the same time. "That painting's been missing since 1969, when it was stolen from Oratory of San Lorenzo in Sicily. The theft was rumoured to be the work of the Sicilian mafia, but no ones been able to prove anything 100 percent."

Neal carefully traced the banner the angel held, as the figure hovered over the Christ child. "The thieves _cut_ her out of the frame," he added with disgust, clearly angered by the debauchery of such a prized work of art.

"It's rumoured to have been destroyed in an earthquake in 1980, but then in 2009 Gaspare Spatuzza, a former mafia member, said the painting had been left in an abandoned barn where it was destroyed by rats and the pieces burned. But that could never be proven either."

"If this really is the Nativity…" Neal's voice trailed off, in a state of awe, unable to get the words out to describe the importance of recovering such a renowned work of art.

Peter couldn't help but smirk at the man's excitement. He loved great works of art like most men loved a Ferrari.

Plus Neal's reaction told the agent two things. First, Mozzie probably didn't know anything about the painting or he would have told Neal; and second, the painting was not coming to New York because of any of Neal's occasionally questionable dealings with the criminal underworld. (i.e. Neal or Mozzie weren't trying to buy or sell the piece themselves).

Neal might be a great con artist, but Peter had become quite adept at reading the conartist's facial expressions and the man's uninhibited enthusiasm at the news told Peter this most likely was not an act.

"It's also on the FBI's top ten most wanted works of stolen art." Peter pointed out to the room. "Does the DC art crimes division know about this?" He directed his question at Diana since she was the only one completely in the loop.

She nodded, pulling a bit of a face as she did so. The Agent Kramer scenario, with the missing Raphael, was still fresh in most agents' minds with a vast majority of White-Collar pretty ticked off by the other agent's shady handling of the situation. This hadn't bought Peter any goodwill with his former mentor, but Peter was touched that his agents were finally accepting Neal as one of their own.

"They've been made aware of the situation, but declined any direct involvement until we know for sure if we're dealing with the real Caravvagio. They did say they want to be kept in the loop, though." Diana rolled her eyes, which was quite uncharacteristic of her, but showed just how much distaste she currently held for Art Crimes.

"I guess we'll just have to wait until we're sure we have the real painting then," Peter told the group with a smirk on his face. The less he dealt with Kramer the better. Peter doubted he would ever forgive the man for trying to ruin Neal's attempts at making amends for past wrongs.

Fortunately for them, by the time White Collar knew if this painting was real, they would most likely be in possession said painting. Then Art Crimes would have no need to make a trip to New York City, unless of course they simply wanted tell White Collar in person, what an amazing job they did at recovering the artwork.

Peter decided his sentiment was felt by a majority of agents in the room if there faces were anything to go by. At least Neal wouldn't be left to the wolves if art crimes ever showed their faces in New York again.

"Does the informant know anything more about the painting, when it's going to be moved, may be a name?" Peter questioned, looking down at the photograph in front of him.

"David Giordano, current boss of the…"

"American mob here in New York," Peter cut Diana off.

"Of course it would be the mob." He muttered to himself. They had there hands in everything, and a priceless work of stolen art was right up their ally.

"Makes sense if the original theft was by the Sicilian mafia." Neal pointed out. "The American Mob is just the American faction of the original Cosa Nostra from Sicily. Some member of Cosa Nostra must have had the painting this entire time."

"But why are they moving it now?" One of the other agents asked. "Seems like a lot of risk for some painting."

"Some painting? Do you have any idea?" Neal cut it, jumping to his feet as his voice rose in pitch an volume. Peter rose as well hoping to cut Neal off before he gained momentum.

"A painting that would be monumental to the art world if we could recover it." The agent cut Neal off just as the other man opened his mouth. Neal shot him a dirt look but sat back down.

"This says, the painting's set to arrive in the US five days from now." Agent Jones read off the top sheet of the folder. "Do we know why?"

Diana pulled another sheet from out of the stack. "According to our informant Bartolo Rizzo, the painting is supposed to be a gift." She elaborated. "Rizzo's a low level enforcer for David Goirdana turned snitch for us after we agreed not to bust him for some racketeering charges about six months ago. He dropped us a hint that the painting is supposed to be a gift to the Goirdana family from the current head of the Cosa Nostra, a Mr. Roberto Bianchi. It seems Mr. Bianchi wants to expand his business dealings with is sister organisation here in America and he's are trying to buy some good will, after some spat they had a while back over a girl."

"Apparently David Giordano's a Caravvagio fan. Personally his style of arts a bit too _controversial_ for my own taste, but to each their own." The female agent added on, an air of smugness to her tone.

Neal couldn't just let such a comment stand by itself. "By 1600 AD Caravvagio was known as 'The most famous painter in Rome,' the controversy surrounding his work only served to add to his popularity. His worked helped usher in the Baroque period of art."

"And as I said before, we all know the significance recovering this painting would be to the art world." Peter grit out. Sometimes it seemed like his agents picked things to argue about just to annoy him. Like siblings competing for their parent's attention.

Neal apparently couldn't let this go because he decided to jump back in. "I was merely pointed out that controversy is at the heart of many of the world's greatest artists. Just look at Marcel Duchamp's 'Fountain'…"

"I'm sorry, but staring at a urinal, something I can see every day when I visit the men's room, is not my idea of art. Let's move on…" Peter added in his most authoritative voice before Neal could keep arguing.

Then quickly changed the subject, knowing Neal might try anyway. "If this Rizzo is some low level enforcer, how do we know the painting really is coming into the country?"

"Because we checked around, and Giordano was looking for an appraiser. An independent source verified that he's secured the services of one... Fitzgerald Aberdine." Diana read of the top sheet of paper.

"A…a … Aberdine?" That's the best Giordano can do?" Neal sputtered. "The guy doesn't even specialise in Baroque art. One time he even authenticated a Matisse 'Vase of Sunflowers,' for this business kingpin Harvey Stewart, and that painting—" Neal suddenly stopped, eyes going for wide for a second. "— Is hanging in the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg, exactly where it belongs." He quickly concluded.

"I thought you said you replaced that one with a forgery in 2004," Ender piped up. "It was on your mmppphhh." The kid grabbed at the hand that had been clapped over his mouth. A moment later Neal jerked the hand away.

"Ahhh, you bit me."

"_You_ tried to suffocated me," the kid snipped back.

"Children!" Peter looked almost apoplectic. "Priceless stolen artwork we are trying to recover here."

"Neal," the agent continued, trying to get back control of the situation in front of his agents. "Talk to Mozzie, see what he knows about The Nativity, anything he can get from his—

acquaintances of the not so legal sort."

Neal smirked and gave him a mock salute.

"Jones… Diana… Get me something on this Fitzgerald Aberdine. I want him out of the picture when Giordano's painting comes into town."

"Are you putting a hit out on him too?" Ender perked up. The kid appeared to have taken possession of one of the case folders and was now drawing what looked like tiny spirals across the length.

There was a moment of silence as Peter felt all eyes suddenly on him; the agents' faces all giving a questioning expression. Because of course his team of agents would jump to conclusions about their boss based on the ramblings of a six year old.

"We are _arresting_ Aberdine and sending in our _own_ appraiser." Peter annunciated each word, for his agents more than anything. "With his own guy out of the way Giordano will be forced to find someone else. We simply offer him a suitable alternative, who can verify the paintings authenticity. Once we know the paintings the real Nativity, we move in and make our arrests."

Neal puffed himself up, sitting straighter in his chair. "And I am more than happy to lend my expertise." He paused for a moment, appearing deep in thought. "Hey isn't there a reward for help leading to the painting's recovery?"

"Yes, the satisfaction of a job well done." Peter glared at him.

Neal's face began to pucker in a pout, complete with those big sad eyes. Peter decided to end this before his agents began looking at him like the Grinch who stole Christmas.

"Meeting adjourned, now get to work." Peter pointed at the door and the next sound was the scramble of papers being grabbed, and chairs knocking into each other as agents raced each other to the door.

As the door swung shut Peter breathed a sigh of relief and collapsed back down into his chair. He stared up at the ceiling, using his feet to twist back and forth as he tried to regain his composure before heading back to his office. A moment later he gasped as the wind was knocked out from him from a small elbow and rib cage slamming into his chest.

"Oof," Peter grunted. "Watch the elbows kiddo." But he pulled the kid up into his lap anyway.

"Sorry," Ender bounced up and down a bit. "But I just wanted to tell you something reeaally important."

"Okay," Peter couldn't wait to here this one.

"I'm getting a snake."

"Excuse me?"

"A snake. With my money for figuring out mom's birthday present. Cause they're cool and they eat mice and it would be useful to have one in the house."

"We don't have a mouse problem," Peter pointed out.

Ender bit his lip for a moment. "Well... one day you might. Allegedly..."

_God help me..._ Was all Peter could think.


	3. Do You Hear What I Hear?

**A/N:** Here is the next section. Things should heat up a little more in the next few chapters since I know readers tend to like action. Not sure how many chapters this story will have but I'm hoping for at least ten. Please let me know what you think.

* * *

**Do You Hear What I Hear?**

Neal tiredly dragged his feet up the stairs of June's house to his loft apartment. It was amazing how much effort a full time legal job took. Who would have thought, but then again, Neal knew he had chosen his line of work for a reason.

When Neal was engaged in some of his not so legal activities, he might run on an almost manic high a couple days, but could then crash at the end of the time, enjoying the spoils of his efforts.

Working – day in, day out on a twelve-hour schedule was exhausting. Especially when Mozzie wanted him to continue in some illicit enterprises to supplement his income.

Speaking of Mozzie the smaller man was waiting for him, at the kitchen table. As per usual he'd already helped himself to a bottle of wine, and had found the plate of hors d'oeurves June left in the fridge, from a party she'd hosted the other night.

"I told you an honest days work could kill you," Mozzie noted about seeing Neal practically stagger in and drop to a more comfortable seat on the couch. "But do you listen to my words of wisdom? No… You have betrayed all that we stand for in this pathetic enslavement of your soul to the man."

"Not helping Moz," Neal groused out kicking off his shoes and flexing his feet. Even thousand dollar Italian loafers could hurt after being on your feet for 12 hours.

"I'm just saying, a man shall reap what he has sown, and you my friend, are reaping the rewards of service to what the world defines as morally repugnant."

"You hate visiting me in prison Moz, this is my way of ensuring you don't have to suffer through the torture of walking past a public restroom on the way to the visiting lounge."

"Keep telling yourself that, while you life's energy is slowly sapped away, resulting in only a calloused and empty shell."

"The Nativity's coming to New York City." Sometimes it was best to alter Mozzie's train of thought before he got going. He could prattle on for hours about his conspiracy theories and while Neal found them amusing, he had a headache from staring at tiny print all day in poor lighting conditions.

That stopped Mozzie in his tracks and the smaller man sat their, wine glass half way to his open mouth. "Ca… Cara… Caravvagio's Nativity? The painting that's rumoured to have been stolen by the Cosa Nostra, 'Nativity'? 'The Nativity with St. Francis and St. Lawrence' that's estimated at 20 million dollars 'Nativity'? How did I not know about this and when is it coming here?"

"We can't steal it," Neal's face puckered in disappointment. Caravvagio might not be his favourite artist of all time, but Neal loved the deep emotions his paintings evoked. It was almost as if the artist captured a moment in time on each canvas, there for the world to witness for all eternity.

At Mozzie's sudden scoff Neal set the record straight. "It's our latest case. Apparently the head of Cosa Nostra is sending it as a gift to the leader of the American Mafia here in New York as some sort of peace offering."

"I know a guy, who knows a guy, who would make a great fence." Mozzie was never one to leave a potential deal alone, when there were illicit gains to be made.

Although it pained him to do so, Neal shook his head. "Peter's going to be watching this one like a hawk. This paintings on the FBI's ten most wanted list of stolen artwork. Besides I don't want to do anything that might bring Art Crimes back here."

Mozzie shuddered. "And Agent Kramer. He has absolutely no morals, and is pathetic excuse for a suit."

"I thought you liked that in a person."

"Moral ambiguity is fine, but g-men are supposed to have an overly attuned sense of moral conviction, not a twisted agenda that forces us to go on the run half way across the globe and fend off deranged psychopaths."

Neal decided this wasn't the best time to point out Mozzie had been wanted him to run with the treasure for months before Agent Kramer's actions forced them to flee the country. "Let's just not do anything that might bring them back here." He rolled his shoulders trying to work the kinks out. "The head of the America Mafia, David Giordano, hired an appraiser to authenticate the painting when it arrives. Peter wants me to appraise the painting instead. That way the FBI can do their thing and arrest Giordano for receiving stolen goods. I need you to make that to happen."

"All right, but I want full immunity for all my actions, my name kept out of any official records, and I will need $500,000 dollars to arrange everything.

It was always a pain when Mozzie went off on one of his rambles where he only let Neal in on part of the conversation. "What?"

"Well, if I'm going to arrange to get rid of this guy, I'm not very well going to do it with my own money." Mozzie pointed out, unsure why Neal couldn't grasp this very obvious point.

Neal just rolled his eyes. "Peter is having the guy arrested not killed, all you need to do once that happens is get word out to Giordano that you know of another appraiser who can assist him in authenticating the painting. Someone much better than the hack he attempted to hire in the first place." He finished in a smug tone.

"Ah… Mr. James Halstead will be making a reappearance in the world of black market art." Mozzie raised his wine glass in a mock toast.

"He's returning after spending a rather long holiday on an exotic tropical island." Neal informed the other man. "But now he's back and in need of a small lagniappe to pad his pockets." As much as he loved working for Peter, Neal loved this aspect of the job the most. He'd grown up his whole life learning how to play confidence games, and there was nothing he loved more.

"The best lies are born of the truth." Mozzie pointed out after a sip of his red.

"The painting is supposed to arrive next Tuesday."

"And by then Mr. Giordano will have secured the services of one James Halstead."

"You're the best Moz," Neal slowly rose to his feet and headed for the bathroom so he could take a shower and change.

"Oh and I want 40% of whatever Giordano's paying you," Mozzie called after him.

* * *

Peter tiptoed in at almost ten, a six year old held carefully in his arms. Ender's little cheek was resting in his shoulder, arms wrapped around the agent's neck as he slept.

Elizabeth was sitting on the couch reading a book. She looked up when he walked in, smiling and rising to her feet to meet him.

"You're later than expected," she gently informed him, but didn't seem too upset by this as she kissed him in the cheek.

"Yeah, sorry about that hon," Peter always felt guilty when he was late. May be he needed to get her two gifts this year to make up for being such a lousy husband. He should tell Ender the next time they were alone together to find out two things mommy wanted. He'd buy her the moon if he thought it would make things better, but may be he could get away with some jewellery or a day at the spa. Women liked those sorts of things, right? All that pampering and other such crap.

"Anything you want to talk about." She sat down and motioned for him to do the same.

Peter carefully took a spot next to her, mindful of the little moppet he currently held. The kid needed a haircut, but the last time this had been suggestion he cried for an hour until Peter just gave up. _Sheash_, tell the kid you don't want him to be mistaken for a girl and he has a tantrum.

"We have information a very famous stolen painting is coming into New York. El…" Peter couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice. "Recovering this piece would be huge. Not just career wise, I mean it would really be monumental for the art world."

"You sound like Neal you know," she laughed and tapped his nose with her index finger.

Peter gave her his best, 'I'm offended' face. "I'm not a total philistine you know. I do have an appreciation for culture, and – other— such – stuff." He finished.

"Wow, that was almost eloquent. All my work at converting you from a caveman dragging a club is really starting to pay off." She grinned then reached over to run her fingers through Ender's blond hair. "When did he fall asleep?"

"Bout half way through the ride home. He helped Agent Barrows file today. Can you believe that pompous ass had the nerve to tell our son, something as important as filing was beneath his pay grade? I had to chew him out for using inappropriate language in front of a minor."

"Because pompous ass is completely appropriate to say in front of Ender?"

El did have a point, but the kid was asleep, so it's not like he heard Peter anyway. That was an important rule of parenting; just don't let the kid hear you didn't want him to repeat in front of others.

Besides, Ender got enough encouragement to shirk the law from Neal and Mozzie and Peter wanted his agents to be shining pillars of responsible law abiding citizenship for his son. Ender needed to see following the law was cool. _Good god_, now he sounded like one of those cheesy DARE commercials from the 80s. Hey kids, it's cool to not do drugs. Just say no. He'd probably have better success bribing him with money.

The kid stirred and Peter was worried his incredibly loud internal conversation had woken him up, but he simply twisted around and put his thumb in his mouth.

"Can we please put him in a straight jacket for a week and break this habit once and for all," the agent grumbled. "He's six for goodness sake. What's going to happen when we send him off to school? Not to mention all the money for orthodontia," He muttered that last bit more to himself than El.

"Because you are a wonderful man, who would never do anything to traumatise a poor innocent little child, by making him giving up a source of comfort after all the horrible things he's endured." El told him sweetly.

Peter just snorted. "I can concede the poor traumatised little waif but he's hardly innocent. I know for a fact he was the one that reset the clocks to three hours early so my alarm went off at five in the morning on a Saturday."

"Oh come on honey, it was rather funny that you were stumbling around for a good hour before you realised it wasn't even light outside."

"Yah, yah…" Peter muttered. It figured El always took someone else's side. She was like that with Neal too. Always wanting Peter to be softer on him than the agent felt he should be.

"Just let me take him upstairs and then we can spend some time _together_." He emphasised the last word knowing she'd take the hint.

"I'll be waiting," she laughed and went to put her papers away, before heading upstairs herself.


	4. Jingle Bell Rock

**A/N:** Next chapter is here. Planning some action and maybe a little whump in the next few chapters. But I think this chapter is more in line with what people like. Hope Neal and Peter's interactions are up to par. So let me know what you think!

* * *

**Jingle Bell Rock**

There was nothing Peter found more satisfying than snapping the cuffs on a criminal, after arresting them, and sending them off to jail. You break the law you do the time. Plain and simple. The gentle clicking of the ratchet teeth as they slid across the notches, was as sweet as any melody, and Peter could great joy in the simple things in life.

Unfortunately those same feelings of enjoyment didn't apply to the arresting process themselves which currently involved chasing down a subject on foot.

"FBI! Freeze!" Peter shouted again, knowing subconsciously that it would do nothing to slow the suspect, but gave him something concrete to do amidst a foot chase. The roar of the frigid New York wind was in his ears and Peter felt the pounding of his feet reverberate off the pavement. Who knew this Fitzgerald Aberdine could be so fast?

The way Neal had described him; the man was a dumpy, no nothing, of a fraud who couldn't tell the difference between a Monet from a Manet. _And the man has no fashion sense_, Neal had all too readily pointed out. But Peter guessed anyone could get a burst of adrenaline when a team of armed FBI agents were after you, because Aberdine was setting a pretty good pace.

Aberdine skidded through array of tables and chairs in front of a coffee shop, with several patrons standing around outside sipping their espressos since the tiny shop was too crowded on the inside. The slightly pudgy man bowled over a female patron, knocking her cup to the ground, and the woman along with it. He didn't even bother to apologise, just staggered a few paces in some sort of odd dance with his arms flapping, until he managed to get his hands on the ground and regain his footing.

Peter normally considered himself the perfect gentleman who would always stop to help a lady in distress, but this time catching Aberdine was his only priority.

"FBI," he barked as he skidded his way through the … patrons jumping out of his as he dashed through, jumping over an overturned chair, Aberdine and knocked to the ground.

Ahead of him, Peter saw the other man turn a corner, grabbing at a lamp/crossing post for balance as he made the sharp turn.

"He's heading east on Spring," Peter shouted as he turned the corner as well. Flinging his hand up to leverage off the post Aberdine had grabbed onto. The good thing about the man's tumble through the coffee shop was that Peter was gaining ground.

A few yards away, Aberdine ducked between some buildings. Why suspects always thought they could get away by running into alleys was beyond Peter. Maybe they watched too much television. An alley usually signalled a dead end.

Sure enough, when Peter rounded the next corner, starting to feel a little winded he saw Aberdine at the far end trying to climb over the chain length fence. Talk about cliché.

The man's adrenaline appeared to have run out because he was huffing and puffing as he attempted to haul himself up.

"Crap… Crap… Crap…" Peter could hear the other man muttering as he approached. Aberdine seemed to have caught his jacket in a broken link of the fence, and he was tugging in a desperate attempt to free the fabric and continue his climb.

If it wasn't for the fact that Peter had chased the guy for almost a mile, he might actually feel a small amount of pity for how pathetic Aberdine looked, caught a third of the way up a chain link fence, his snagged jacket preventing him from going up or down.

Deciding it was time to end this pursuit once and for all, Peter drew himself up grabbed Aberdine by the arms and hauled him backwards.

A ripping sound could be heard as the jacket tore, and Aberdine toppled off the fence and onto the ground still wheezing and gasping for air.

"Fitzgerald Aberdine, you are under arrest. Anything you say can be used against you in a court of law," Peter began the Miranda Rights only to be cut off.

"You ripped my best jacket," Aberdine snarled. "And I know my god damn rights. You have no reason to arrest me, I haven't done anything wrong."

"Then why did you run?" Peter asked, pausing for a moment as he heard the satisfying click of the cuffs sliding into place.

"Cause you were chasing me, you great buffoon," Aberdine whined.

Sheesh, talk about unoriginal. This guy was reading straight off the script of every bad cop show out there.

"Then I can add resisting arrest to your list of charges," Peter pointed out. "You might have gotten away with a slap on the wrist if you didn't make me chase you halfway across New York City."

That might not be the entire truth, but Aberdine didn't need to know that, and Peter took a small amount of pleasure in watching the other man pale.

Jones arrived at the alley just as Peter dragged a considerably more cowed Aberdine, back to the street.

"Read him his rights… again. And put him holding till I get there," Peter informed his junior agent.

"You got it boss," Jones replied, as he took custody of the suspect and began pulling him away towards one of their cars parked further up the street, all the while Aberdine lamenting his jacket.

As soon as Aberdine was gone, Peter took a moment to catch his breath. He could run the 300 meter in a decent time for his PFT, but that was considerably less distance then this pursuit. Next time he should just let Diana take the guy. She loved chasing down suspects and had no qualms about dive tackling anyone, if it meant ending the chase a little sooner. He'd seen her do it, and she put any linebacker to shame.

Speaking of Diana, she pulled up to the curb, rolling down the window. "Need a ride boss," she smirked, as she took in Peter's now less than pristine appearance.

Peter didn't even reply, he just opened the door and collapsed into the passenger seat.

* * *

Back at headquarters, Aberdine was sitting in holding so he could cool his heels, before they booked him. Jones had dug up a couple open warrants on Aberdine they could use to keep him under raps, until the appraisal took place.

In the mean time Peter only needed to ensure Neal was that appraiser. Mozzie was making all the arrangements, and while Peter didn't trust Mozzie as far has he could throw him, he had a much better chance of making this happen on short notice than the FBI.

Neal rapped on the door and then sauntered into Peter's office with a smirk on his face.

"Heard you chased down Aberdine," Neal looked way to happy about this.

Peter just scoffed and turned back to his computer, feigning ignoring Neal for a moment. "He's fast for such a pudgy bastard." Peter finally admitted.

"You should have let Diana tackle him," Neal replied, a far off look of hope in his eyes. "And then recorded it so I could see." Peter had been adamant Neal wasn't anywhere near Aberdine's arrest. He didn't want Neal's cover blown before the appraisal took place.

"You are taking way too much pleasure in the misfortunes of others," Peter told him. "And I here I thought you actually had a conscience."

Neal clasped in hands over his heart dramatically. "Peter you wound me. And here I thought all you hard work had turned me into a moral upstanding citizen."

"I'll do a lot more than that if you don't get your feet of my desk," Peter gestured to the size 11 Gucci loafers that were currently resting causally next to his pencil holder and the photo of him and El.

"I never get to have any fun around here," Neal complained, schooling his features into a perfect pout. The look lasted all of five seconds.

"Can I be there when you interrogate Aberdine? Please!? Do your bad cop thing and make him cry."

"How about you make sure everything is set up for you to take Aberdine's place, instead of focussing my job." Peter began gather up the papers on his desk and tapping them into a neat stack. "That's you're cue to get out of my office."

"Does this mean you aren't going to make Aberdine cry," Ignoring Peter's threat, Neal jumped back to pathetic again, and going for pity points. Sometimes it actually worked.

"Does this mean I need to find someone else to go in undercover? Because I can do that." Peter wasn't in the mood for Neal's antics at the moment. They still needed to ensure Neal was sent in as the new appraiser, and since Neal and Mozzie were there best bet for that to happen, playing cop wasn't in the card right now.

"First Giordano has to realise his first appraiser is going to be spending the week in _jaaail_." Neal was in the mood for being snarky, especially if he didn't get to be there for the big interrogation showdown.

Aberdine should be arrested for his fashion sense alone. Neal had once seen the man wear socks with sandals. That alone should take away any credibility he had in the art world.

"Can you please just check with Mozzie, and find out what's going on? We need all the details so we don't send you in their without backup. Unless you what to get shot."

"No I think I've reached my quota of getting shot for my lifetime."

Peter glared and Neal finally took the hint. "I will call Mozzie, and then since you're denying me the pleasure of watching Aberdine wet himself, when you act all Bud White, I'm getting one of the new peppermint frappuccino from McDougal's. It's the holiday special."

"Thank you." Peter turned his attention to his computer as it pinged to tell him he had a new email. "Now go." He waved of his hand in a classic move of dismissal. "Enjoy your peppermint frappuccino."

"If you make Aberdine cry, I want a copy of that tape." Neal smirked and then dashed out the door because Peter found an excuse to throw something at him.


	5. Oh Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum

**A/N:** This is the last filler chapter before the action starts. This story hasn't been as popular as Hidden Dragon, and I'm not sure if people realise this is another case story, and not just a Peter is a clueless parent fic. (Check out Parenting for Dummies, if that is your thing.) The first chapter was just meant to add a little humor since I hadn't ironed out all the plot details yet.

This story won't be a mystery like the first one, but it will revolve around the Nativity painting and the mob and all the drama that goes with bad guys who carry guns. I'm also looking into bringing back an old enemy of Neal's to add to the fun.

Ender will be in this story, but the plot is not meant to focus around finding the perfect gift for El as much as that will be a side note scattered throughout the chapters. Unless people want more. He's six so I can only do so much and keep it realistic. Anyway, I hope readers enjoy the chapter, and I promise action and suspense and hurt/comfort is to come.

* * *

**Oh Tannenbaum, Oh Tannenbaum**

Peter wasn't sure how Mozzie had done it, but Neal had a meeting with David Giordano, Monday at 2 pm, the day before the painting was due to arrive in New York. Presumably, Giordano wanted to meet with James Halstead in person and assure he was getting a credible appraiser.

A few hours before the meet, the tech crew did the usual song and dance of prepping Neal for the meeting. The tracking anklet wouldn't come off till the last possible second, but they were insuring the pen microphone would accurately record everything.

Neal was normally pretty patient with the techs. In fact, he usually enjoyed being the centre of attention, with everyone buzzing around trying to get him ready. Today was no different, and he had already made the new female tech blush from his usual flirting.

The younger man was currently amusing himself by clicking the microphone pen on and off, while the watch with built in GPS was being placed on his wrist. Technology was technology, and prone to glitches. Both watch and pen needed to be broadcasting at the same time without one in interfering with another.

"Testing, testing… Can you hear me now?" Neal smirked then took a step to his right, forcing the tech to move with him. "Can you hear me now?" He repeated, causing a few of the techs and Peter to roll their eyes.

"Cute," Peter ensured Neal understood his true meaning by his less than amused tone. "Just keep still, and quit making life difficult for the techs. Or I might let them test their new equipment out on you. Some sort of microwave emitter."

"Do you think I'd develop superpowers? Because I always wanted to fly. Or may be invisibility. In my line of work…" Neal trailed off, pondering his options.

"More like your brain would bleed out your ears, but if you really want to be a test subject I can speak to Hughes." Peter smirked.

Neal just shook his head. "Maybe in the second test group. After they've worked out all the kinks. Just think how my alleged heists would go to a whole new level." It was difficult to rattle Neal, because he usually turned any jab around on the other person.

"I love how even your imaginary crimes are 'alleged'," Peter told him.

"All set," One of the techs interrupted the bickering.

"Good," Peter motioned, with a hand, for Neal to follow him. "Let's go over this one more time in case something goes wrong."

"Peter this isn't even to verify the authenticity of the painting. Giordino just wants to meet, and ensure my talents are as legendary as he's heard. And let's face it, who wouldn't be impressed by my skills."

"You're modesty is legendary," Peter gave Neal a gentle shove out the door and pulled it closed as he followed. "A legend in your own mind."

Neal faked mocked anger for a second before switching expressions. "Peter…"

The tone itself was a glaring signal to Peter that he wasn't going to like what Neal was about to ask.

"You can't have your tracking anklet off until right before you meet Giordino, and it goes right back on right after the meeting," sometimes it was important to remind Neal of the rules.

"Couldn't you for once assume that I am not trying to pull a fast one? Peter your lack of faith in me is rather troubling," Neal assumed his famous, 'I'm hurt' face.

"Fine," Peter decided he shouldn't always assume Neal was trying to sidestep the rules. After all, once in a blue moon Neal could be trusted to do the right thing. "What did you want to ask me?"

"El's Christmas present." The words were blurted out a little too quickly.

"Oh for the love of god," Peter swore. "I'm fine. I have it all figured out. But thanks for your offer of assistance."

"Peter," and there was than whine again. "I simply can't believe you didn't come to me first. I would be more than happy to offer my expertise on finding the perfect present for El. You know how much I love her and want to see her happy."

Peter just gave a disbelieving look and pushed past Neal. "This isn't about finding the perfect present for El Neal, you just want me to give you the hundred dollars I promised Ender."

"I'd be lying to you if I didn't admit that that wasn't a tiny little part of my offer," Neal gestured by holding his thumb and index finger a few millimetres apart. "And you know I never lie to you Peter. But I'm just hurt that you didn't seek out my expertise first. After everything we've been through in past years to ensure El didn't murder you for mistakenly buying her a toaster oven or garbage disposal."

Peter was unsure if Neal was playing another game, or genuinely upset Peter didn't ask him for help. Maybe he wasn't hugged enough as a child and that's why he was so needy. Either way, Peter decided to put a stop to it, before Neal sulked instead of getting ready for the meeting with Giordano.

"Neal, I asked Ender to do this to force him to get to know El better. After all that crap Rebecca pulled, he gets nervous and edgy around her. It's something safe he can do, and if she doesn't like what I get her, well I have a suitable excuse." Peter nodded up and down as if to convince himself.

"Smooth," Neal pulled a face. "Blame the six year old for you ineptitude as a husband. Because I'm sure that will go over well with Elizabeth."

"It's going to work." Peter informed him. "They'll bond, and I'll find 'the perfect gift'." He waved his hands to emphasise the point.

"And when Ender tells you she wants a new puppy, because that's what he wants, my offer's still on the table. But I get the money."

"Just go, we have an operation to plan," Peter pointed towards the door of the conference room, so Neal would take the hint.

* * *

"You come very high recommended Mr. Halstead," Giordano had more of a typical New Jersey accent than New York. "I heard you have provided this service for many other business men in New York in need of your unique skills."

"I'm just happy we are able to help each other out. There's nothing I appreciate more authenticating a beautiful work of art. For a modest fee of course." Neal's voice came smoothly over the line. Peter could just picture him holding out his hand, all sophistication and cocky smiles.

"Yes, yes… you can rest assured I always compensate well in all my business dealings. So," it sounded like hands were being clasped together. "To business. I am receiving a gift tomorrow, from a 'how shall way say it…' family acquaintance." Giordano came across as oily over the comms and Peter pictured a slightly ostentatious suit and slicked back hair. "I want to ensure I'm getting the real painting, and not some two bit artist's attempt at replication. Knowing the gift giver, I wouldn't put it past them."

"I can certainly understand you concerns. Am I allowed to know which piece I'll be authenticating," Neal knew they were waiting until tomorrow to make any arrests, but getting as much evidence as possible was ideal.

"I'm choosing to keep the identity of my prize a secret. To protect my own interests. You understand." Giordano soothed.

"Of course," Neal readily agreed. "I completely understand the importance for a man in your position to maintain his… privacy."

"Excellent. I'm told you know the Baroque period well."

"An amazing time for art," Neal quickly jumped in. "Can you believe the term was originally meant to be derogatory. Renaissance artists hated the emotional intensity and directness of the scenes the Baroque artists were depicting. But the way Baroque artists contrast light and dark to evoke emotion in the viewers, is truly what sets them apart. And the period's said to be responsible for revitalising faith in the Catholic Church after the Protestant reformation."

"I'm impressed," Giordano's tone parroted his words. "It's clear you know your art."

There was a moment's pause over the comms and the crinkling of paper could be heard. "The time and location of are meet. You will of course come alone to this location. At that time you will view the painting and tell me if I am getting what I want, or if someone will be getting a bullet instead. Once you have completed the task I will pay you $100,000 and you will be free to go. However," Giordano's voice took on a rather icy tone. "Cross me Mr. Halstead, and you will regret the day you were born."

"I understand completely Mr. Giordano," Neal was rarely rattled by threats, and his voice still played sure to the crew listening in the van. "I look forward to the completion of our business venture tomorrow."


	6. Adeste Fideles

**A/N: **First thanks to everyone who has reviewed, followed or favourited the story. I haven't been able to reply to everyone yet, but please know I read each review and try to use all suggestions and comments to improve the story and my writing. The time you take to respond is so appreciated.

I have been promising some readers some action and a bit of hurt/comfort so here you go. Well the hurt part is here, just not the comfort yet. For all my readers who like to keep things realistic, don't worry, I'm not straying from the realism of the show. At least I don't think I am. This was a tough chapter to write. I'm working full time and in school full time so it cut's down on my writing time, but as I have said. I hate leaving stories unfinished so I will complete this, hopefully by Christmas.

Please let me know what you think. I'm sure there are a few minor grammatical errors, but I don't think there is anything major.

* * *

**Adeste Fideles**

One of Neal's favourite aspects of working for the FBI was going under cover. It was essentially a government-sanctioned con, and Neal loved a good con. He could assume any persona, and Peter wouldn't be able to comment on how cocky, or whiny, or sophisticated the person was, because it was part of the job. It was also a great way to keep his skills sharp, for when the rest of his sentence was up and he was back in the game. Handy how these things had a way of working themselves out.

Mr. James Halstead was not an alias Neal used often, because it was a reputable one. Not that Mr. Halstead dealt with reputable individuals, but Neal didn't really use this alias to directly con a mark. Neal had a few aliases tucked away that represented semi-legitimate cash flow operations, such as appraising art for individuals who didn't want to go through legal channels. But despite the large amount of cash he might make in one job, he didn't often go into these business dealings because there was a greater chance he'd get burned.

So with all the confidence only an accomplished conman could exhibit in the face of danger, Neal casually strolled into the warehouse Giordano had told him they'd meet at. Very cliché to meet in a rundown warehouse, but what about the mob wasn't.

Giordano was waiting in an awful, off the rack suit, surrounded by several muscle types, in equalling appalling outfits. For the amount of money the mob pulled in each year, one would think they could invest in a tailor.

"Mr. Halstead," Giordano said in an oily voice, holding out his hand. "So glad you good join us."

Neal completed the handshake, mindful the muscle guys with guns were watching his every move. "I'm always happy to help out a fellow art lover."

"My acquaintance should be here soon, and then we shall see if you earn this." Giordano held up a silver case.

Neal gave an effervescent smile. "The best part of the job. And, it's not that I don't trust you, but you have to understand how a man in my position might have, how shall we say it… concerns." Neal tipped his head toward the case. It was always a fine line of how much distrust to show when dealing with unsavoury types.

Fortunately Giordano didn't seem at all offended. "You and I have many things in common Mr. Halstead. I too am very cautious about my business dealings, which is why you find yourself here." The man placed the case on a nearby crate and flipped the front latches, opening the case so Neal could see the neat stacks of hundreds.

"May I?" Neal stepped forward, Giordano's nod. Careful to keep his movements from creating too much suspicion, he picked up a couple sheaves of money and flipped through them, both to ensure the bills were genuine, and that the other stacks of bills underneath existed as well.

Placing a satisfied look on his face, Neal stepped back and allowed Giordano to close the case.

"Distrust, a man after my own heart." Giordano complimented. "If this particular venture goes well, I would very much like to continue our dealings. I always have use for a man of your particular talents in my organization."

"Any dealings that mutually benefit both parties, are always of interest to me." Neal replied, as he leaned casually against some nearby boxes.

Giordano looked like he was about to say something else when a purring motor came into earshot. "It seems my business acquaintance is here."

A short time later a sleek limo rolled up and inside the open door. First, the driver got out followed by a couple bodyguard types, all muscular, and with matching black suits. The driver walked around and opened the passenger side door, from which a shorter man stepped out.

Although the man was not tall in stature at least he was someone who knew how to dress. Neal could spot an expensive Italian suit from a mile away and this one was clearly a perfect custom job.

"David," the man greeted, stepping forward with an equally oily smile to the one Giordano was so famous for.

"Nicholas," Giordano appeared equally fake in his greetings but stepped forward and the two men tentatively shook each other's hands.

"I am so glad you are open to this expansion project. It will mutually benefit both our respective families." Nicholas smirked, as if he didn't quite believe what he was saying.

"When your father first approached me with his proposal, I must say I was rather suspicious, but after further consideration I began to see the benefits of the offer."

Neal had to admit it was rather like watching a dance, with the partners carefully moving around each other, without anyone actually dancing as one.

"Before this goes any farther, I'd like to see the piece." Giordano had lost some of his slickness and was now getting down to business.

"Of course." Nicholas gestured at his own man at the same time Giordano beckoned Neal forward.

"My acquaintance, Mr Halstead will be ensuring I'm getting the genuine article." Giordino was firm. "As you well know trust begins in the smallest things, and our future business dealings must be founded in trust of they will fail."

"I agree completely," Nicholas responded. "But I think you shall find the piece to your satisfaction"

A minute later two of Nicholas's men arrived carrying a long crate, and another with a cloth that he preceded to lay out across the long table, Giordano had obviously had brought in ahead of time.

Neal watched as the crate was carefully opened, and a long tube wrapped in plastic gently removed. The painting was unfurled and Neal drew in a quick breath as The Nativity lay out on the table. The edges were somewhat tattered from where the piece had been unceremoniously cut from the frame, all those years ago.

Stepping reverently forward, Neal bent forward to examine the piece. There were always certain tells, art appraisers used to authenticate works of art. Was the canvas from the proper time period; was the type of paint used correct for that artist? Once Neal had seen someone using oil paints to copy Duccio, and then tried to pass if off as a forgery. He also examined the brush strokes. They were as unique to each artist as fingerprints.

"Well Mr. Halstead?" Giordano was clearly anxious to know if he had the real Nativity.

"The canvas is from the correct time period, and it's linen, Caravaggio's preferred canvas material. And the paint is properly aged. Notice the craquelure." Neal gestured to the small cracks across the surface of the painting. As paint ages, it becomes less flexible and shrinks causing small fissures with the painting itself. And finally, notice the marks here denoting rapid brush strokes. All consistent with Caravaggios' unique style."

To Neal this was like Christmas come early. "Either it's the best forgery I have ever seen, or you have the genuine Nativity here, Mr. Giordano."

A pleased look spread across Giordano's face as he stared at the painting on the table. "A magnificent addition to my collection."

"It sounds like the beginning of a very profitable business relationship." Nicholas clasped his hands together and then directed two of his men to re-roll the painting and package it back into the crate.

Neal stood there off to the side waiting for the moment when Giordano would ever him his money and also when Peter would burst in and arrest everyone. Maybe he could even get the case out before Peter noticed.

Suddenly the tension in the room seemed to shift as one of Nicholas's men approached and whispered in his ear. Nicholas's whole demeanor changed and his eyes narrowed.

He yanked out a gun and pointed it has Giordano. This caused a chain reaction. Giordano's men pulled their weapon's on Nicholas causing Nicholas's men to draw on them. Neal felt suddenly very naked being the only one without any sort of weapon.

"You set me up." Nicholas spat.

"What are you talking about?" Giordano snarled, his finger all but shaking as it was pressed over the trigger of his weapon.

"My men tell me there's a suspicious van outside, and it's been there the entire time. What sort of man sells is own family out to the Polizia? Put the painting back in the car."

Giordano's face was almost purple with rage. "I haven't sold anyone out, if anyone did this it be you. You're trying to get me out of the way so you can take over my business."

"Liar," Nicholas screamed back.

Neal stood off to the side praying they didn't jump to the next logical conclusion and then shoot him execution style or something.

The standoff seemed to drag on for hours although it was probably more like 20 seconds.

As much as Neal hated weapons, this might be a good time to clue the FBI into getting into the warehouse since they hadn't arrived yet.

"As much as I love family reunions, I really don't want to be caught in the middle of bad blood involving guns or the police. So if I could just have my money, I'll be leaving."

All the weapons turned to train on Neal who held up his hands jumping back. "Whoa, whoa… There is no need for any of that. Mr Giordano promised me 100 grand to verify his painting, and that's just what I did. All I want is my money, so I can go."

"What do you know about his guy?" Nicholas was eyeing Neal with sudden interest.

Neal did not like where this was heading, but he'd talked his way out of worse. "I'm just here for my money. I don't know anything about any police, and I really don't like having guns pointed at me."

Giordano was also eye Neal, although he didn't seem as suspicious as Nicholas.

"I'm not carrying a gun, and I'm not wearing a wire. You can check for yourself. I just want my money. Look, if the cops are out there don't you think we all have better things to do than point guns at each other. And if that is the police out there why are we standing around here talking." _Come on Peter_, Neal kept repeating in his head.

Nicholas jerked his head forward for one of his men to search Neal. Neal stayed perfectly still as the patted him down. Nicholas's man shook his head.

"I'm just going to take my case and leave." Neal spoke directly to Giordano, and then slowly edged toward the silver case sitting on a nearby crate. When none of the men tried to stop him, Neal carefully closed his fingers around the case, and began to back out of the warehouse. Everyone else seemed to take the cue for Neal and began edging backwards towards their respective vehicles.

A minute later all hell broke loose, as the FBI's tactical response team poured into the warehouse.

Neal did what he normally did, in the midst of a gunfight. He got out of the way and tried not to die.

Pandemonium reined as the respective mob groups scattered, and then some dumb fool made the mistake of firing his weapon. Bullets went flying and everyone dove for cover.

Nicholas's men drew him back towards the vehicle and they dove in desperate to make a quick getaway. The limo had been turned bullet resistant because rounds didn't penetrate the metal or glass as the vehicle backed out and made a fast exit.

This left Giordano's men in the middle of a shootout. Keeping his head down Neal glanced around desperately for a way out. If he was lucky he could keep his cover, but at this point, his main goal was avoiding a bullet.

He edged around behind his crates, looking for any sort of exit. Crawling a few paces he looked around to see if he could make it to the side door without being seen. The case of money was still clutched in his hand. A second later he felt a gun pressed to his neck, and then Giordano yanked him to his feet.

"What are you doing?" Neal yelped.

"Nothing personal." Giordano dragged him back. "Just a little leverage. I don't think the feds are going to be too happy about shooting an unarmed man."

Neal took a couple gasping breaths trying to keep his feet under him, as he stumbled backwards.

"Don't shoot," Giordano screamed stepping up with Neal standing in front. The barrel of the gun was pressed against the fleshy part of his neck and staring to hurt from the pressure.

Slowly the agents seemed to realise what was going on because Neal heard the shouts to hold their fire.

"I'd hate to see the papers tomorrow, that the FBI gunned down an innocent man, just to arrest little old me." Giordano was slowly stepping backwards. "Well, not completely innocent," the man laughed a bit. "But it would still be bad publicity don't you think."

Neal decided since the painting was still at large he was going to try and let them know his cover needed to be protected.

"Please, my name is James Halstead. I'm just an art expert. This is all a mistake. Please don't let me die." He sounded pathetic, and pleaded, and it was an Oscar worthy performance. Hopefully it would work.

Giordano's men took the cue to back with him slowly out of the warehouse. Neal didn't think they'd shoot him, since he was clearly worth more alive than dead, but it was hard to tell.

Outside the warehouse, and they were walking towards the cars parked off to the side. Neal tried to keep his breathing under control. _Just don't make me get in the car_, he thought.

Apparently that wish didn't work because Giordano pulled him in and the vehicles began backing away, and then turning.

"What are you doing? I gave you what you want. It's not my fault that Nicholas guy stole the painting." Neal really hated in situation that involved guns, and small, enclosed spaces were even worse.

"I told you Mr. Halstead, it's nothing personal. In fact, in just a few blocks, I will be more than happy to let you out of the car. Unlike my pathetic relatives I am a man of my word, and you can keep your money. I would however suggest you leave town for a while." He gave a nod to the bodyguard sitting next to Neal, and he suddenly felt a searing pain in his left arm.

Neal cried out and released the case to clutch at his arm. Giordano's man held a knife now slick with blood.

"Just a little reminded Mr. Halstead. No one crosses me, and if you even think about talking to the cops, or the feds or even to your priest. Next time, that knife will slit your throat."


	7. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

**A/N:** Meant to be a fun little chapter with two parts. First, we continue in the quest to find the perfect Christmas gift for El. Or more like Ender's quest to get a hundred dollars. Next is the comfort section to follow the hurt part in the previous chapter. Except comfort really isn't Peter's forte, so I don't know if it is up to par for the hurt/comfort lovers following this story. Guess well find out. I think I nailed Peter's characterization though.

* * *

**Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas**

Ender could not believe his bad luck at being forced to stay at home while Neal and his Dad were off arresting the criminals. He had begged and pleaded, and even shed a few tears, but Peter had resolutely told him he couldn't come to the office with him, because he wasn't allowed in the van. It wasn't like he was asking for a gun so he could shoot someone, although one of those cool badges that let him boss other people around would be pretty awesome.

Still it meant he could spend some time trying to figure out what dad was supposed to buy mom for Christmas, since dad clearly couldn't just ask, or buy her a teddy, like all the other smart husbands. Why married women had a thing for stuffed animals he would never know, but it was something he had heard more than one foster mother want for Christmas or their birthday. Girls were just weird.

Regardless, he was getting 100 dollars for Peter's lack of husband skills and Ender really wanted the money. He'd devised the perfect plan. After being traumatised at Thanksgiving, El had completely forgotten about the whole writing letters to Santa. Not that Ender believed in Santa. It was scientifically impossible for anyone to deliver that many presents on one night. But it made his new parents happy, and that was the most important thing.

Besides, if mom wrote down what she wanted all he had to do was hand the list to dad, and he would be shopping at the pet store, or toy store, or maybe the arcade. One hundred dollars was a lot of quarters.

El was working from home today, different brochures scattered about on the dining room table as she planned for one of her events. Preparing the portfolio for each client was always a challenge, because El had to interpret her client's idealisations into something tangible and doable.

Ender bounced in with some white printer paper, pencils and a box of coloured pencils Neal had given him. He dropped everything in the middle of El's papers as he hopped into her lap.

"Timothy Burke," El looked down at him, and was met with the picture of perfect innocent. The y_ou can't possibly be mad at me because I'm too adorable_ look.

"Not helping mister, you know better than to just drop your things in the middle of where I'm working."

Ender tried to look even cuter, making his eyes wider and chewing on his lip. If he worked at it enough he could bring tears. He stopped after a moment when El's stern expression did not lessen.

"I just thought we could write letters to Santa." He finally said, the picture of dejected misery.

El's expression softened but she remained firm. "Then ask sweetie."

Ender drew himself up and turned so he could see her face better. "Mommy could we please write letters to Santa? I'm worried that if I don't mail it now he won't have time to get my presents made before Christmas."

She smiled and kissed his forehead. "I thought you didn't believe in Santa. Something about the physical impossibility of having only 1/1000th of a second to park his sleigh, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, put presents under the tree, eat cookies, get back up the chimney, and into the sleigh, and move on to the next house."

Oh yeah, Ender had said that to them when they suggested writing a letter a couple weeks ago. "Weeellll. I thought I might give him a chance because the worse that happens is he just doesn't give me anything."

El gave him a questioning look.

"He's never gotten me anything before, but maybe I just wasn't good enough. I mean, I did kind-of rob a bank. And a few museums." If this didn't work, Ender wasn't sure how else to figure out what she wanted.

"Sweetie," El hugged him, with that look, the one that said she was ticked off at Rebecca and felt bad for him at the same time. Ender still couldn't decide if he liked it or not.

"So can we write letters?"

"You want me to write one too?" El fingered the paper.

Ender immediately perked up. "Yeah, if Santa has more than one person to deliver to maybe he won't skip the house. And I even brought my coloured pencils so we can decorate the letters. That way if they look cool Santa might like them better, and I might actually get a nice present this year."

El looked like she couldn't decide whether she should be amused or horrified. "Didn't any of your foster parents at least give you presents?"

The kid shrugged. "Yeah. Last year Rebecca and Harold gave me a set of lock picks. Course she said if I didn't learn how to use them she'd break my fingers, but whatever. And I'm really good at picking locks."

Now El really did look horrified. "Well, I'm sure Santa will do a much better job this year." She scooted Ender off her lap and stacked up the brochures to make room for the paper and pencils. He grinned and pulled himself up into the other chair, pulling a piece of paper in front of him and beginning to write. He looked over to ensure El was doing the same.

Twenty minutes later after Ender finished drawing candy canes and a pretty cool picture of a snowman breaking into someone's house he turned to take El's paper. She'd drawn a row of little holly leaves and berries across the top and bottom. Ender quickly scanned down and suddenly his face fell flat.

* * *

Neal really hated being dumped out of a moving vehicle. They never slowed down enough for him to get his feet under him as he landed, and somehow he always managed to get road rash from all the bits of gravel embedded in his skin.

Today was no exceptions and he landed with an _oof_, in the middle of the road, rolling a few times before he managed to right himself. He didn't know if it was a good thing or bad thing that he still had the case of money clasped in his hand.

Shoving up to his feet, he winced as the cut on his arm pulled. He was sure there was gravel in the wound, which should better be described as a gash. A giant gash that was bleeding all over his suit.

Neal reached up with the hand clutching the case and felt about with his fingers, making a distasteful face at the sticky blood now coating his fingers. His life really sucked right now, and Peter was nowhere around for him to complain to.

"If you're still listening in, I could really use some help right now. Big, giant, bleeding gash in my arm. With gravel in it, because I was thrown out of a _moving_ car. Which really wasn't fun." Neal had no idea if he was still in range of the receiver, but at least they could track his location through the watch, which had a greater transmission range.

He was saved the trouble of rambling anymore because up rolled a black Taurus, followed by an SUV. "Bout time," Neal muttered. He normally wasn't this pissy, but he'd already been drugged, tasered, and shot since working with Peter, and now he could add stabbed to that illustrious list. Well, sliced really, but stabbed sounded so much more dramatic.

"You all right," Peter hopped out of the vehicle and jogged over to Neal's location. Neal was slightly insulted that Peter didn't sprint, but he guessed he'd have to be lying unconscious for that, and then he wouldn't be able to witness it anyway.

"No! I was stabbed. Didn't you hear me earlier?"

Peter turned to examine the arm. "Not too bad, but it'll probably need stitches. And looks more like they cut you, not stabbed you."

"You say potato," Neal informed in.

"Well, let's get you to the hospital so they can treat your _stabbing_." He mimed the gesture with his fist.

"You are not helping Peter."

"That the money Giordano promised you," Peter gestured towards the case as he led Neal to the Taurus.

"Only if you let me keep it, for all the pain and suffering I've been through."

* * *

At the hospital Neal sat patiently while the nurse cleaned and flushed the wound in preparation for the doctor stitching it up. His luck had not improved, as his nurse was an older lady in her late forties, who was incredibly kind, but not someone he felt in the mood to flirt with.

Peter stood off to the side waiting patiently while the nurse and then doctor did their jobs. The doctor also ordered a prophylactic IV of erythromycin and a 30-day prescription of it in pill form as well, after Neal insisted he was allergic to penicillin. Antibiotics were standard procedure to prevent infection after any sort of injury that broke skin. Peter wasn't sure if Neal's sudden allergy was out of spite or not, but he'd let the doctor sort it out.

Waiting for his discharge papers, Neal sat carefully brushing fingers of the neat row of sutures.

"At least it's my left arm."

"Glad you can see the silver lining," Peter smiled. Neal usually took any sort of injury or illness well. He'd barely batted an eye about being tasered, and was more pissed off that a bullet in his leg slowed him down, than he had been about actually being shot.

"You're just lucky the doctor was able to save my arm. Otherwise I could sue the FBI for damages."

"How fortunate for us." Peter leaned against the wall taking in Neal's sullen form.

"He did say it was a near thing. My arm was sliced through practically to the bone."

"That's funny because I distinctly remember something from he doctor about being lucky it barely cut muscle, but I'm getting up there in years and my hearing isn't what it used to be."

"I'm sure they were intending to hit bone," Neal muttered. He was still angry Peter had confiscated his case of money and handed it over to Jones to be entered into evidence. Some days he got no appreciation for almost dying.

Peter was about to respond when the doctor walked in with a sheaf of papers in his hand. "Your paperwork Mr. Caffrey, and your prescription. You can change the bandage every couple days or if the wound weeps and the bandage becomes too wet. Come back in if you show any signs of infection such as spiking a fever, or if the wound becomes hot and swollen. I don't see any problems though, if you take the antibiotics, but just be aware." He handed over the papers, which Neal took with a sour face.

"It won't be a problem," Peter pleasantly told the doctor to make up for Neal's dour expression.

"I'll give you a ride back to Junes," the agent said after the doctor left. Neal was flipping through the paper as he looked at the nearby trashcan with interest. Suddenly his eyes snapped up to Peters.

"What? No. I'm fine. We have to get back to headquarters Peter. The Nativity is still out there. It was 'The Nativity' the real one. We have to get it back."

Peter held up his hand to placate the other man. "We'll get the painting back. I have Diana gathering more information on this Nicholas guy from the Cosa Nostra. My guess is he's still going to want to make the exchange with Giordano. If there willing to give this man a ten million dollar painting, they must really want to expand their business."

"Twenty million. She's worth at least twenty million Peter," Neal insisted. At the agent's raised eyebrow he added. "You really need to use Wikipedia more often. It's a complete fountain of knowledge."

"Let's go," Peter motioned with his hand and ushered Neal out of the room. Peter took the paperwork and then slung Neal's jacket over the man's shoulders to spare him the trouble of trying to get his arms in with a sore arm.

"You know, I really expected more from you Peter," Neal told him as they walked down the hall.

Peter glanced over looking perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"Sympathy… comfort… I've just been brutally stabbed, and you are the picture of calm. I need agony. Confessions of how much you care about me, and how sorry you are that I am suffering, and could possibly die from some time in the future from blood loss or sort of rare streptococcal infection. Where are my tears?"

The agent looked around then patted Neal on the shoulder. "I'm glad you didn't lose your arm."

"You suck at this." Neal complained.

"I offered to drive you back to June's. I'll even take you to the pharmacy so you can get your prescription filled." Peter wasn't sure why Neal was making this such a big deal. He'd gotten so clingy these past few weeks, which was odd because normally he liked to maintain his self-sufficiency.

"Tears," Neal repeated. "I need heartfelt tears of sadness."

"At least I didn't tell you to cowboy up."

* * *

**A/N:** I'll try to put a bit more comfort in the next chapter. It is a bit hard to write because I'm trying to keep things true to the show, and there really isn't too much hardcore comfort. (If that is even a term). I'm planning on bringing back an old enemy of Neal's in the next chapter, or possibly the one after that which will most likely get some sympathy from Peter. And we still need to find the perfect gift for El. I have no idea either yet, so I completely sympathize with Peter and Ender.


	8. It Came Upon A Midnight Clear

**A/N**: Thanks again to all the wonderful reviewers. Hope everyone is enjoying the story. Just in case people haven't figured this out, I know absolutely nothing about the mafia, other than what I found on Wikepedia, so no one come murder me over this if I'm wrong. :) I chose to use the Cosa Nostra because they are rumoured to have stolen the painting and it fits well into the story.

* * *

**It Came Upon A Midnight Clear**

Peter arrived home that night, after dropping Neal off with promises he would try to be more sympathetic tomorrow. Neal just made a face and said he wasn't holding his breath.

The agent knew it could have been much worse than a few stitches in his arm, but he also had faith in Neal's ability to talk his way out of difficult situations. The agent was also banking on the fact that Giordano wanted to utilise either Neal's or similar services in the future, and wouldn't want to jeopardise his reputation within the art world.

Peter had missed dinner again, but at least El kept his plate this time instead of feeding it to Satchmo. He kissed her before sitting down.

"How was work?" She sat next to him, a folded piece of paper in her hand. Clearly it was important to her by the way she held it, but she was always gracious enough to ask him how his day was before moving on to her own thoughts.

"Rough," Peter took a bite of potatoes and stared at his plate. "We were so close to nailing this mob guy for stolen art, and then somehow they made us, and the painting has disappeared again. Plus Neal went and got himself injured."

"What! Is he all right?"

"I wouldn't be here if he wasn't fine El. He's at June's sulking about how I didn't cry over a little cut in his arm."

"What happened?" With Neal it was always hard to tell the magnitude of an event. He could sulk over a paper cut, but say he was fine, even if his spleen was hanging out, because he wanted to complete a con.

"The guy spooked and used Neal as a shield to get out of the building. One of the enforcers cut his arm as a warning not to talk with the cops. Neal's cover wasn't blown they were just were making a point. He did a good job today El, risk is part of the job."

"Well, maybe you could have given him a _few_ tears." El smiled at him. Peter didn't do comfort well, and he really hated any sort of crying. "At least tell me you didn't say cowboy up."

"Please El. I am getting a little better. He'll be fine tomorrow. I'll buy him lunch or something."

"At least you're thinking about it." She smiled, fiddling with the piece of paper in her hand. Peter wasn't so clueless that he couldn't take a hint. "What's that?"

El looked down. "Ender's letter to Santa."

Peter gaped. "He finally agreed to write one of those?"

"It was his idea. Said he was going to give Santa a chance."

"Oh this I have to see." Peter wiped his hands, and reached for the paper.

"It's… interesting." El smiled.

The first thing Peter noticed was the beautiful artwork, in brilliant colour decorating the letter, and the neat cursive lettering. There were drawings of Candy Canes and a Christmas tree, and also a snowman at the bottom who appeared to be picking the lock of the house where he had been built. Great. They still had some work to do.

The letter itself was as interesting as El said.

_Dear Santa,_

_I'm not sure if you're real or not, but I thought I would finally write you and see if you live up to all the hype I keep hearing about. It seems a bit selfish to write a letter just about me, since Christmas is supposed to be about doing things for other people, but it makes my parents happy so I guess I am doing this for someone else._

_So onto my list. If you could at all arrange it I would really like a puppy for Christmas. This means our dog Satchmo could have a friend as well. Not sure what type, but may be one that doesn't pull my arm off when I'm walking him. Or if that's too big I like sugar gliders too, but you need to bring a pair so they don't get lonely when I'm away. And a cage so they have a place to live. I'm not sure about the rules on crossing international borders with live animals, and if those rules apply to you, so I understand if you can't make that one possible._

_If not I guess I'd like a bike or a skateboard. Because I like doing tricks, and last year I borrowed a bike (I know I didn't ask, but I really did have every intention of giving it back) and had fun jumping of the curb. It you don't have enough space in your sleigh, cause you have to bring lots of presents for other kids too, than I guess I'd just like a new set of lock picks because I broke the tension wrench on mine, or maybe a Nintendo game thing like I see the other kids play with. They're small so they will probably fit better. _

_Sincerely,_

_Ender_

_P.S. Make sure you bring something for mom and dad too because it would be mean to forget them._

Peter looked up at El.

"I know. I didn't know if I was supposed to laugh or cry when I read it." El just sat there shaking his head.

"Those little glider things are illegal. We arrested some business guy embezzling from his company last year, and he had about ten of those little rats. They kept hissing at us whenever anyone went near the cage and the whole group had to be carted off by animal control." Peter handed the paper back.

"At least a puppy is legal." El looked thoughtful.

Peter's eyes snapped up. "What?! No, We'd be the one who took care of it. Well get him a bike, or something. That was on the list."

His wife grinned at him. "At least you're paying attention to me tonight." She gathered up his empty plate and headed towards the kitchen.

"I always pay attention," Peter called after her. "It's just my brain has so many things inside I can only focus on so much at once."

Peter stood up and decided to see how Ender was doing. It wasn't his bedtime yet, but he'd be getting ready. The kid was sitting at his desk, drawing something with his pencils.

"Hey kiddo, whatcha doing?"

Peter saw a piece of paper written in El's neat handwriting that Ender was covering in more Christmas pictures.

"Your _wife_ is making it impossible for me to get my money." He sulked, folding his arms into a pout.

"What?" Peter pulled up another chair and sat down.

"I asked mommy to write a letter to Santa with me. That way she'd write down what she wanted and I could give it to you, and get my money."

"Okay that's sound like a good idea." Peter could never use the idea but it sounded like it would work.

Ender just scowled. "She wrote that she wanted everyone to be happy, and that we'd all spend Christmas together as a family. Why can't she just write I want diamonds or something? This sucks, I think you rigged it so you don't have to pay me." He pouted, and dropped his head down to his arms.

"Watch your language," Peter told him. "You see." He tapped the paper with his finger. "This is why I enlisted your help. You want the money, you have to earn it. I'm sure you can figure out something."

The kid still didn't look too happy.

"All right time for bed." Peter lifted him up and set him on the bed, letting him burrow under the blankets.

"Can I come to work with you tomorrow, please daddy?"

"Yes you're coming with me tomorrow. You can help file again."

"Oh joy." Ender curled up around the stuffed dragon El had bought him a couple days after he came home. Well it was a bear in a dragon suit, but Ender had deemed it not sissy like a normal teddy bear. He even named him Demo.

"Good night." Peter kissed his forehead and turned the light off as he left.

* * *

Neal decided the only thing worse than getting stabbed, was for the pain medication to wear off. Shock usually kept a person from feeling a lot of pain during the initial incident, but once the adrenaline died off, the pain began. His life really wasn't fair.

At least he'd managed to tuck away a few of the sheaves of money before the case was counted and entered into evidence, as payment for his suffering. He was a conman after all.

Peter picked him up at June's as per their usual.

"Feeling better." He asked as Neal climbed in.

Neal glanced at Ender in the back seat. "It's just a scratch Peter, I can't believe you're making such a big deal about it. I mean; I appreciated the tears but really. I'm fine."

"Glad the pain meds haven't made you too loopy." Peter shook his head.

"What happened?" Ender perked up. "Why did daddy cry?"

"I didn't cry." Peter glared at Neal. "Neal was stabbed during a case, and he's upset I wasn't more sympathetic."

"Ha, so you do admit it was a stabbing." Neal looked positively gleeful to which Peter made a face at his verbal gaffe.

"Did it hurt?" Ender leaned forward.

"I've had worse." Neal just shrugged it off. "Madrid, Mogadishu, Panama… Cape Verde. Peter doesn't appreciate how tough I am."

"Says the person who refused stitches until the Lidocaine started working."

"At least you didn't die. Cause that's permanent." Ender felt the need to point out.

"I'm counting my blessings," Neal murmured.

* * *

At headquarter Peter put Ender in his office with one of his probies and then gathered the rest of the team in the conference room. "All right, we need a new plan. Neal identified the mob's painting as Caravaggio's Nativity, so the Cosa Nostra must have had the painting this entire time. Apparently they've sent Nicholas de Vitis here to meet with Giordano and make all the business arrangements. Diana."

The female agent stood up. "Nicholas de Vitis is the nephew of Luigi de Vitis, the head of the Cosa Nostra." The picture of both Nicholas and Luigi appeared on the screen at the front of the room. Aside from the normal type of protection rackets and election tampering we often see within the mafia, they're also known for smuggling narcotics, particularly heroine, as well as weapons and other controlled goods."

She paused for a moment to change the slides. "This is a multi million dollar industry, that could turn into a multi billion dollar industry if they link up with Giordano and the American Mafia."

"There's a lot of money at stake so I believe Giordano and de Vitis will try again. We need to figure out where that meeting will take place, and this time we arrest everyone and recover the painting." He paused a moment to let his words sink in. "Get to work."

The room emptied leaving Neal and Peter.

"You calling Mozzie?" Peter asked.

"Why is it you only seem to like my friends when you need something from them."

"I mostly like Mozzie." Peter informed him. "I just don't like some things." The agent considered for a moment. "Like telling my son the M&M Company puts an aphrodisiac in the green ones. Six is not when he and I should be discussing the birds and the bees. Actually I was hoping to avoid that conversation all together."

"It' not that big a deal, he doesn't even like chocolate."

"Just get me something. Think about what it would mean to the art world if we recover it. And what it would mean if your failed."

"Way to guilt trip me."

"Whatever works, we need this one Neal. People are always watching us."

The agent was about to continue when Diana rushed back in. "We have a problem," she interrupted. If Diana looked that stressed, it was something big.

"What's wrong?" Peter stood up.

"We just got a call from DC. Kramer's coming back to New York."

* * *

A/N: Nooooooooooooo... Run for your life Neal. Again...


	9. Hark The Herald Angel Sing

**A/N:** Sorry this next update has take forever. Okay, so I really disliked Kramer's character in the last season. Especially how he tried to take Neal to DC. Never really figured out if his true motives where because he really wanted to protect Peter or because he was jealous of their success and friendship, but either way, I have an extreme dislike for him. So I couldn't resist writing this little scene in the story, even if it is slightly out of character.

* * *

**Hark the Herald Angel Sing**

It was the day after receiving the dreaded news about Kramer and Peter sent Neal on a coffee run to McDougal's, forcing him to take along Ender. Neal was fidgety ever since hearing the news, and Peter thought getting him out of the office might help. Ender finally decided he was bored with filing and had been using the old interrogation cassette cases to make an elaborate domino set-up Hughes unfortunately walked in on. Unfortunate because the senior agent had knocked them over before Ender could finish his masterpiece causing the kid to all but burst into tears, and the vein on Hughes forehead to just about burst.

Neal balanced a cardboard drink container in his right arm, since the left was still tender from the knife wound and in a sling. Ender trotted along next to him, with his own cup of hot chocolate, taking two steps for one of Neal's. They were in the midst of their usual banter as they entered the office lobby and passed through security.

"At least you were only stabbed. The mafia guys could have shot you and then the doctors would have to dig the bullet out of your arm. I heard it can be excruciating."

Ender looked way to happy about this little titbit of information he'd apparently gleaned form somewhere. Most likely television.

"Wow, did you get that off a greeting card, because it's almost touching." Neal gave him a shove with his bad arm, and winced as the stitches pulled. The kid staggered back a pace.

Ender didn't seem to deterred by the stumble because he bounced back to Neal's side in a heartbeat. "I looked at Hallmark but all they had were those pathetic ones that said 'Get Well Soon' and "I hope you feel better'. They didn't even have anything that said, 'Sorry you almost died, but it was your own fault'. It's false advertising cause they say they have a card for every occasion."

"You should write the company and tell them. I'm sure they'll get right on it." Neal ensured his voice was dripping with sarcasm, although Ender would probably figure it out, even without the obvious inflections in his tone.

Ender opened his mouth to respond with his usual sharp wit, when Neal heard his name from across the lobby.

"Caffrey."

Both Neal and Ender turned in the direction of the voice, Neal stiffening and Ender stepping back a pace as he sensed the man's tension.

"Still running those same games on the FBI I see." Agent Kramer strode towards them, filled with haughty confidence, as evidenced by his gait and the squaring of his shoulders.

Neal put on a casual grin,not willing to give Kramer any indication that he felt slightly rattled. "It's nice to see you again Agent Kramer. I thought you weren't getting in until four."

"Caught an earlier flight. The importance of this entire situation was too much for me not to get here as soon as possible." Kramer gave an almost predatory grin, that showed all his teeth. He stepped forward into Neal's personal space forcing him to take a small step back, a motion that did not go unnoticed by the FBI agent.

"I'm sure Peter will be surprised." As a practiced conman, Neal was used to controlling both his emotions and his words in a way that remained neutral, but held his true meaning. Kramer couldn't say he was rude, but Neal certainly wasn't going to say Peter will be happy to see you. No one at White Collar was.

"Heard you met up with the wrong end of a knife. You really should watch yourself. Spending time with all those criminals is a dangerous business. A person never knows when a meeting with them might be his last."

Neal heard the unspoken threat in Kramer's steely tone, but he simply smiled back pleasantly. He could tell the man was irked by his calm demeanor despite his incessant attempts to gain the upper hand.

_Score one for me_, Neal thought choosing to respond in a way he knew would piss Kramer off. "I knew Peter and the other agents would have my back. After all we all want the same thing here. To recover a priceless work of art."

Kramer smiled back but it never reached his eyes. He glanced over and his gaze rested on Ender who stood partially behind Neal as he studied the other agent with wide blue eyes.

Neal followed Kramer's gaze and glanced down at the kid, who looked back up at Neal. "Est ut vir quisnam vis vos verto?"

Neal gave the barest of nods to Ender's whispered question, and the kid's eyes narrowed briefly, before they widen again, full of fear.

Kramer may not have heard the words but he didn't miss the exchange. "And who do we have here? A little young to be an agent aren't you?" His voice was almost sickly sweet.

Ender regarded him for a moment, hands clutching at his cup. "My father's an agent. I'm visiting him."

"And he knows you're talking with a known criminal?" Kramer crouched down in the classic technique of maintaining eye level with a child in order to relate better. "Because, I don't know if you know this or not, but Mr. Caffrey is not a good person to hang out with. People who spend a lot of time with him tend to get hurt."

Kramer glanced back up, as he said this, his eyes conveying to Neal that he meant the statement as a dig.

Neal's jaw tightened, but he refused to take the bait. The FBI might have reinstated his work-release with Peter, but that didn't mean he had Carte Blanch authority to punch an agent, even if the man was borderline harassing him.

"My dad is fine with it." Ender's took a small step back, showing his dislike for the agent and the situation.

Kramer apparently couldn't take a hint. "Come on, let's see about getting you back to him. I might need to talk with him about choosing better people to take you to buy hot chocolate." He reached out a hand to take the kid's arm and lead him towards the lobby elevators.

Not even Neal expected what happened next. Ender stepped back further and screamed at the top of his lungs.

Every head in the lobby turned to stare. Kramer dropped his hand and jumped backwards, eyes flickering around widely at the other people around.

Security rushed over to see what the commotion was about, demanded to know what had just happened.

Neal didn't know if he would consider it fortunate or not, but because this was New York and not DC everyone knew Neal but they didn't know Kramer. And many people now knew Ender, both because they were familiar with his story, and because Peter brought him into work quite a bit.

"That man tried to grab my arm." Ender stood frozen with big frightened eyes. "He was forcing me to come with." His voice was shaky and tears were starting to form.

"Now wait a second," Kramer held up his hands. "I was just trying to help the kid find his father. He looked lost."

Security stood around trying to make heads or tails of the situation. "Sir." One of the females asked. "Did you grab his arm?"

"Oh for goodness sakes." Kramer reached into his pocket, probably to grab his badge.

"Sir, please keep your hands where I can see them." The guard looked nervous, as evidenced by the twitchy wiggle of his fingers.

The frustrated agent pulled his hand back out. "Look, I am an agent visiting from DC. I already showed you guys my badge when you let me through security. Just let me show you it to you again." He reached back into his jacket and removed the leather case.

"Is everything all right here?" Neal looked over to see Agent Kimberly Rice from Missing Persons standing there, a puzzled expression on her face. She must have been in the lobby when everything happened.

"Everything is fine Agent." Kramer was starting to look more than a little ticked off. He wasn't used to people not instantly bowing to his wishes.

Since Rice didn't know the man, she ignored him. "Caffrey? You guys all right? What happened here?"

Neal took a small bit of satisfaction in the anger on Kramer's face that the people in the lobby were more interested in his side than Kramer's.

"Everything's fine Agent Rice. Agent Kramer here just scared Ender. You know he doesn't like strange people trying to touch him." Neal kept a slightly smug smile on his face, and even as he addressed Rice he kept his gaze on Kramer.

"Sir. Agent or not you can't just grab a child who clearly doesn't know you. I don't know how you do things at your own office but here we have rules against that sort of thing" The guard had inspected Kramer's badge and deemed it okay, but still felt the need to press her point.

"I wasn't trying to kidnap the kid. Look, I know this man he was walking with and he is a criminal. I don't think Caffrey has any business being around children, particularly children of FBI agents." He gestured at Ender who was still looking at him with big eyes, but had now stuck his thumb into his mouth. Something he rarely did in public anymore.

"Agent Burke has no problem with Mr. Caffrey spending time with his kid, so while your concern is appreciated, it's really none of your business." For some reason, after Rice almost got Neal killed she felt the need to be a little nicer to him.

Kramer's eyes widened. "Peter Burke? Peter doesn't have a kid."

Ender didn't say anything, but Rice jumped back in. "Agent Burke adopted him several months ago. Now whatever business you have here in New York, you might want to get back to it and stop scaring a child, or I'll have to ask security to escort you out."

"Caffrey take Ender upstairs." Rice finished, even as she glared at Kramer who was now staring at Ender with interest. The kid still had his thumb in his mouth. Neal was trying to figure out how much was an act, and how much was because he had heard stories about Kramer, and was trying to garner resentment for the agent.

Kramer held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm actually here to see Peter. I'm with Art Crimes in DC and I'm here to consult on a case. Look I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to scare the kid. I'm sorry." He looked down at Ender, face full of false sympathy.

Security had deemed the situation a non-threat and many of the other people in the hallway had other places to be, now that an agent was addressing the situation. The constant flow of foot traffic started up again manoeuvring around the small cluster.

Rice seemed to be considering what Kramer said, but was saved the trouble of reacting when Diana and Jones came strolling up. Neither looked thrilled to see the man, but both kept a fairly neutral expression.

"Agent Kramer, what are you doing here? We weren't expecting you till this afternoon." Diana had never forgiven Kramer for trying to turn her against Peter and Kramer seemed to pick up on her hostility, because he plastered on a smile.

"I managed to catch an earlier flight. I only arrived about an hour ago and came over immediately to meet with Peter, and find out if there were any new developments on the case. This is certainly an opportunity for both White-Collar and Art Crimes to do some good for the Art community." Kramer held out his hand, which Diana briefly shook. Neal didn't miss her wiping her hands on her trousers as soon as she let go.

"We're still getting everything together," Jones played the diplomat by shaking Kramer's hand, at the same time taking back control of the situation. "Peter wanted to give you everything we had in a presentation later on this afternoon. It's not quite ready yet because we weren't expecting you for a few hours."

"Have to keep Petey on his toes." Kramer chuckled. "I'm sure whatever you have will be fine. I know how prepared White Collar likes to be."

Diana gave him a tight smile. "I see you met with Caffrey and Ender already."

Kramer glanced back. "Yes. He's Peter's kid? Petey never told me he and El adopted."

"Yes, well you know how busy things get here. Probably just slipped his mind." Diana swept passed him and picked Ender up. He immediately wrapped his arm and legs around her, keeping his thumb in his mouth.

Jones took the now cool coffee from Neal and began leading the way towards the elevators.

Once upstairs Diana set Ender on the floor and he immediately dashed away towards Peter's office. The entire bullpen could hear him as he burst through the door. "Daddy, the mean man from DC is here. He tried to break my arm in the lobby."

Neal bit off a chuckle and both Diana and Jones looked away to hide their smiles. Kramer stared after then kid then glanced around at the other agents who all went back to studiously studying their computer screens and file folders. No one would meet his eyes.

Peter appeared a moment later, Ender in his arms. The kid certainly looked happier now that Peter held onto him. His thumb was back in his mouth, but he didn't look upset. His eyes twinkled a bit.

"Peter." Kramer held out his hand. "Your _son_ seems to have a rather active imagination."

To his credit, and because the other agents were watching Peter remained cordial. "Yes, well Ender had quite a rough life before we adopted him so strangers make him nervous. I'm sure once he gets to know you, he'll see the type of person you really are."

Kramer just kept a smile on his face at the obvious taunt. "I'm sure he'll find out I'm one of the good guys."

Peter placed the kid down and called one of the probies over with directions to take Ender back to his office. "We weren't expecting you till later Agent Kramer, but since you're here, why don't we discuss the actual reason for your visit."

Everyone could sense the tension in the room, as both men seemed to tap dance around the other in polite disdain. It made the junior agents nervous. No one wanted to ignite the situation, but it was clear they were feeling protective of their boss against this man who had already tried to upset the apple cart and nearly cost Peter his career.

Peter just kept a calm look and gesture for Kramer to follow him up to the conference room.

* * *

**A/N:** I have my last final on Wednesday and then I hope to have more time to finish this story. I'm planning more action, but as I said above, I wanted a chapter devoted to my 'I hate Agent Kramer' vendetta.


	10. Silver Bells

A/N: This story is definitely taking me longer to write than I would like, but I'm hoping to have a chapter a day now that I'm finished with my classes. This chapter is mostly Peter and Kramer talking. While I'm sure a lot of people would love to see Peter go after Kramer I think this is much more in character. Peter is ever the professional and despite everything, would not risk setting a bad example for his junior agents. Likewise, while I dislike Kramer, I can't see him causing too much of a scene at FBI headquarters. So this is what you get.

Thank you everyone for your patience and support. Not exactly sure how I want this story to end, but I'm mapping out several possibilities.

* * *

**Silver Bells**

Peter led the way into the conference room and gestured for Kramer to take a seat. "Just yourself? I would have thought you'd be bringing some colleagues. Help with your paperwork and all that." Now that they were away from the majority of the other agents Peter could let his hostility show.

"They're on standby." Kramer eased himself into one of the chairs and began to pull a couple folders from a satchel. Aware that Peter was still beyond angry with him, the other agent opted to change the topics.

"So it really is the Nativity. And to the Cosa Nostra has had it all these years." He stared at a photograph of the painting he had pulled from one of the folders.

"Neal verified the painting at the meeting with Giordano. As I'm sure you know, there's no one better." Peter sat as well. It was difficult. A man he once considered his mentor and friend, not someone he loathed was in the same state as him, let along the same room.

"Yes, I would say Neal's talents in art are unsurpassed. I can't say the same for his undercover skills. Your boy almost blew the entire operation, from what I understand." Kramer eyed Peter arrogantly, his eyes narrowed and his expression grim.

Peter sat himself up more, his voice icy. "No, you don't get to put this on Neal. It wasn't his fault de Vitis's men spooked. Neal kept his cool and didn't even break cover despite a gun to his head. Just because you have a personal vendetta against the man does not mean I will let you place blame on him for something that wasn't even his fault."

Kramer's expression narrowed. "I did everything I did to protect you Petey. That man will ruin your career because you're to busy trying to reform him to see what he's really up to. He was playing you, and you're to blind to see it."

"Everyone deserves a second chance." Peter leaned forward a little. "Neal may not be perfect but he is trying to be the better man. And he's a heck of a lot better man than you will ever be."

Pushing back in has chair so he was leaning; Kramer just shook his head. "Neal only returned that painting because he knew I was closing in. He does what he wants, when he wants it and he doesn't care who gets hurt in the process as long as he gets his way. I was hoping after everything that's happened you could see that Peter. But obviously I was wrong."

"And I was hoping after everything you wouldn't be such a self-righteous ass, so clearly we're both showing lapses in judgement." Peter usually didn't let people get the better of him, but he was not going to let Kramer draw him into another, why Neal is an awful person, debate.

Kramer didn't seem to know what to say to that so Peter promptly changed the subject. He couldn't ban Kramer from the investigation, but he could certainly maintain himself in the position as senior agent. "Nicholas de Vitis still has possession of the painting, and our intelligence says he's still in New York. Whatever business he and Giordano are planning, it's big. Big enough that he didn't turn tail and run after he was almost arrested. He and Giordano will try to make the trade again. We just have to figure out when and where and we'll recover Nativity."

Kramer seemed to take the hint that Peter was unwilling to discuss Neal any further for the moment. "What's the nature of this business deal they're planning?"

"No idea," Peter shrugged. "But whatever it is, it has to be worth millions if they're willing to part with a two million dollar painting over it."

"How are you going to find that time and location of this next meeting?"

"I have my people working on it. They're quite capable."

"And Caffrey. How much is he involved in these inquiries?"

"As much as is needed to get the job done." Peter was tired of Kramer's constant questions about Neal. It wasn't like the man couldn't read the case file.

There was a pause and then Kramer jumped topics. "Why didn't you tell me you and El had adopted? I know you're mad at me Peter, but that's big news. Something I thought would go beyond a petty work disagreement."

The man clearly didn't get just how much his actions had been below the belt. Peter understood as well as the next agent that it was important to not take work related problems too personally. It was like two lawyers going at it in a courtroom. Most of the time, it wasn't personal and you shook hands and moved on. But Kramer had gone behind his back, and tried to forcibly remove Neal from his home because he was bitter over Neal and the Degas.

"What do you want to know?" Peter kept his voice even.

Kramer's expression immediately relaxed. "Well, first of all I believe congratulations are in order Dad. I know you and El always wanted kids."

Peter just nodded but remained silent.

"When did you adopt him?"

"Few months ago." Peter shrugged.

"Come on Petey, that's all you're going to tell me. What's made you guys finally decide to adopt? How'd you meet him?"

Peter honestly wasn't sure what Kramer would think of his and El's decision. Not that he really cared anymore what the man thought anymore. But they had been friends and colleagues for years and some part of Peter still wanted Kramer's approval. Even if that part was practically microscopic.

"Few months ago White Collar was brought in to investigate a series of museum robberies. Random pieces stolen from the Met, the Guggenheim, the Frick."

"I remember the case made the news all over. A husband and wife were involved." Kramer was listening intently.

Peter nodded. "They were forcing their foster children to break into the museums and steal different works of art. Turns out it was all just practice from a bank robbery. They were stealing currency ready to be sent to the incinerators."

"Tough case. What does this have to do with yours and El's decision?"

"Ender was one of those foster kids. He was the one helped us figure out what was going on. He left clues at the crime scenes that we were able to track back to the Martin's and eventually arrest them."

Kramer was staring at him mouth slightly opened. After a moment he seemed to realise this because his jaw snapped shut. "Peter he's what, five… six?" The children's names and ages were never released to the papers for their own protection.

"Six. He'll turn seven in March."

"A six year old can't break into a museum."

The agent shrugged. "That's what we thought, which is why their plan worked so well. We caught Ender in the museum and even then we never thought he was the thief. Just a diversion."

"So you adopted him."

"Those foster parents forced those kids to steal. They even killed a child to make their point. You've worked with victims long enough to know how they can be manipulated through force and intimidation. Or have you been at this so long that you can no longer empathise." Peter's eyes were steely.

Kramer held up his hands in defeat. "I didn't mean anything by it Peter. I'm just surprised all right. Doesn't strike me as something Peter Burke would normally do."

"Yes, well people can change." Peter pointed out.

The other agent nodded. "Yes they can."

There was another pause while both agents regarded the other, weighing out what could be said professionally that would still allow them to get in a jab or two at the other person.

A knock at the door caused both to turn. Diana was standing there, folder in her hand. "It looks like de Vitis is flying back to Italy in one week. Whatever happens will take place between now and then."

"Do we know anything else? Any possible meetings between him and Giordano." Peter was back in full professional agent mode.

She shook her head. "My guess would be he wants to wait a few more days in hopes to ensure the heat is off."

"Because Neal kept his cover they might not even know we know why they were meeting in the first place. They don't know he's one of us."

"Could Neal get into that meeting as well?" Diana questioned.

"It would take just the right circumstances, and I don't know if we can create them." Peter was ever so slightly shaking his head. "Halstead already verified the painting, so they won't need an appraiser. They'll just want to make the trade so they can began their business venture, whatever that is."

"If we knew more about this business venture we might be able to arrange another undercover operation."

"See what you can dig up. Ask around, someone has to know something. Get the new guy, Mr. OCD to help you. The one who's always going on about sonnets." Peter knew Diana would get the hint.

"Great. Because what I want to hear is someone ramble on about iambic pentameter all day." Diana smiled and glided back out.

"You're not going to get Caffrey to help you out. I would think this was his area of expertise." Kramer leaned back regarding Peter across the table.

"So you can say he's violating the terms of his release by associating with criminals and try to take him to DC again."

"Oh would you give it a rest Petey. Your boy is still here. Justice department even reinstated his deal _after_ he ran off. Either a senior supervisory agent has more pull than I realised or someone else is pulling the strings."

"What are you saying?" Peter snapped. "Justice reinstated that deal because Neal helped bring in MacLeish, number four on the FBI's most wanted. I'd say it was a fair trade considering the deals we've made with other criminals such as murderers and rapists. Neal isn't even violent."

"Yes, well I'd say it all worked out in the end then. Caffrey gets to keep his cushy penthouse and thousand dollar suits, and you get to keep your closer rate."

Peter stood up sharply. "I'm sure you'd like to check into your hotel Phil. I'll keep you apprised of anything new."

Kramer stood as well. Neither agent was sure this hostility would ever end, and neither was sure how long things would last before a blow up occurred in front of the junior agents.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning. Unless of course you hear something before then." Kramer didn't bother offering his hand, but walked out of the room and down the stairs ignoring the timid stares of the agents in the bullpen.

Neal watched him go and Peter noticed the man waiting until Kramer's back was turned before he gave his rather cocky little goodbye wave and grin.

A moment later Neal turned and Peter gave him the two-finger point. Neal cautiously got up and ascended the stairs.

"Which seat was Kramer's because I do not want to be infected?" Neal glanced about at the chairs as if worried they might jump up and attack him.

"Just sit down. You've had all your shots." Peter pushed out a chair for Neal to sit.

"What did Kramer say?"

"Don't worry about Kramer. Did you talk to Diana?"

Neal nodded. "Texted Mozzie. He's going to see what he can find out. And that man forced me to flee the country to prevent me from becoming his personal slave." The conman felt it necessary to point out. "Who knows what horrible things he might have forced me to do. Solve his cases for him. Wear off the rack suits." He gave a dramatic shudder.

"Kramer can't hurt you again. Justice changed the deal. You work exclusively with the New York field office and for White Collar."

"And you." Neal quickly added. Since Peter clearly had forgotten.

"You do your job, we close this case and Kramer won't have a leg to stand on. Just don't give him another reason to doubt you. Toe the line Neal, no matter how hard it is."

"I will even maintain a one inch distance from said line." At Peter's raised eyebrow Neal quickly added. "Especially for you. Not even a thought to cross over will flicker in my mind."

"Are you even capable of that?"

"Peter, I'm wounded. I can behave."

The agent snorted.

"Am I still invited for dinner, even though Kramer's here?"

"Just don't brag about it."

Neal mimed zipping his mouth closed. He got up when Peter gestured for him to head back down to the bullpen.

"So has Ender figured out the perfect Christmas present for Elizabeth yet?"

"We're working on it."

"When you're ready to admit defeat, I've compiled a list of several items I think Elizabeth would love. For a modest fee of course."

Peter pointed to the door.

"I really am a reasonable man about these sorts of thing."

"Go!"

"You know where to find me," Neal called as he headed back through the door.


	11. God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman

**A/N**: So Merry Christmas to everyone. Just a few more chapters I think on this story and then it will be finished. I think the next one will be easier to write. This story just hasn't flowed well in my brain, although I hope its flowed better on paper.

Ender comes across as a bit bratty in this chapter, but well it's Kramer.

* * *

**God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen**

Neal arrived back at his apartment in a bad mood. First Kramer had to ruin his day by showing up early and making jab after jab at him, including a dig about Kate's death, then he was stuck at his desk for the rest of the day redoing paperwork administration said they lost. Finally, he ran out of pain medication at the office and felt too proud to beg some off another agent, or Peter, at the risk of getting ribbed over letting some mobster slice him up.

Upon entering his apartment Neal tossed his hat on the table and shuffled over to the bathroom medicine cabinet in search of his prescription. Washing the pills down with a glass of water, he collapsed onto the couch and waited for them to kick in.

"I told you working for the man would one day end in your ultimate demise."

Neal started upright, jumping almost a foot off the couch cushions, in surprise. "Don't you know how to knock Moz? Or turn on a light?"

"I prefer the relaxing solitude of a moonlit night while enjoying my Bordeaux." Mozzie held a wine glass and was swirling the contents around as he sat in one of the chairs a few feet away from where Neal sat.

Neal inwardly cursed himself that he was too tired to notice Mozzie was already in the apartment. He was getting soft.

But truth be told, Neal was too tired to truly care at the moment. "Did you find out anything new about Giordano, Moz?" He leaned back and rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips.

"He likes his caviar, hates the Yankees, very un New Yorker in my opinion, and his wife has two Doll-Faced Persian cats which is by the way a complete marketing ploy by animal breeders who as you well know are really controlled by big government and the EPA."

"What are you talking about?"

"Doll-faced Persians? Have you seen those things? They look like they ran into a wall head-on and their faces stuck. Doll-faced implies charm. Not a lack of coordination. Only a complete fool would buy into such a mendacious term after they saw those things." Mozzie stared down at the crimson liquid in his glass.

Neal just rolled his eyes. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

"And that phrase is a poor wording of Shakespeare's 'Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye' who borrowed the translation from Plato, who most likely stole it from Confucius."

"Can you just tell me if Giordano has another meeting set up with de Vitis yet? Kramer's back in town and he's looking for any excuse to ruin Peter's career. Again."

"Kramer's here? What? How? When?" Mozzie sat up straighter in his chair, his fingers gripping noticeably tighter on his wine glass.

"Early this afternoon. Somehow he elbowed his way into this investigation because it's a 'work of art' that we're after. Personally I just think he's looking for another way to arrest me and force me to go to DC with him."

"The Suit won't let that happen."

"Peter doesn't control everything. If he could have stopped Kramer before he wouldn't have told me to run," Neal glumly pointed out.

As much as Neal believed Peter was one of these most exceptional FBI agents he ever met, he now knew there were some things beyond Peter's power. Before Kramer, he'd just always accepted that nothing he did was outside of Peter's ability to fix.

It was a bit of a crushing blow to find out differently, sort of like when a child first finds out his father is only human.

"So this means what exactly?" Mozzie arched his eyebrows, clearly puzzled by what to do next.

"We need to get that painting back legally."

Mozzie snorted.

"As legally as possible so Kramer has nothing he can use as leverage. This isn't just about me; I don't want him hurting Peter or Elizabeth again. That man only cares about furthering his career, by arresting as many people as possible. At least Peter cares about justice."

"Kramer seems a little overly devoted to justice if you ask me." Mozzie muttered to himself pouring another glass of Bordeaux.

"The difference is Peter actual cares about other people. Kramer doesn't care who he hurts as long as he gets what he wants."

Mozzie considered this for a moment then puffed himself up a bit leaning forward, as if to share an important secret.

"Fortunately for you, Ricky Rossetti has a second cousin who works at this Pizza joint in Queens."

Neal was familiar with most of the snitches they normally spoke with but that name was eluding him. "Whose Ricky Rossetti?"

"You remember him. That guy who owes me a favour for not ratting him out to the cops when he broke into that jewellery store of 12th and left the diamonds in my personal storage locker."

"Oh, right… right." Neal waved his hand. "And as I remember it you got to keep 60% of the diamonds so I don't know why you're upset."

Mozzie waved him off. "Semantics."

Typical Mozzie. "So how is Ricky helping us out?"

"Well, as I was saying." Mozzie held up his index finger to emphasize his point. "Ricky has this second cousin who works at a Pizza place Giordano regularly visits. The cousin says he remembers Giordano because the guy always leaves these giant tips."

"I don't think anyone cares how much Giordano tips the wait staff." Neal propped his feet up on the coffee table, since June was there to frown at him.

"Will you stop interrupting me, after I went through all this trouble to save your hide, yet again I might remind you."

"Sorry," Neal muttered.

"Soooo," Mozzie continued. "Giordano apparently has rented out the entire building next Friday for a 'business lunch'." He quoted with his fingers.

"Who rents out a pizza joint for their business lunch? I am so glad I'm not in the mob." Neal shook his head. The lack of class of some people.

"I'm guessing this is where they'll be doing the exchange. And it happens in plenty of time for DeVitis to fly back to Sicily for the holidays."

"And also enough time for us to plan a sting." Neal wished he was taking pain meds so he could pour himself some of the wine. He needed to unwind and a glass of red was just the thing.

"As long as Kramer doesn't ruin everything." Mozzie pointed out.

Neal smirked. "I'll just get Ender to scream at him again."

"What?" Mozzie was staring at him now clearly interested.

"Ender and I ran into him in the lobby today and Kramer didn't know Ender was Peter's son. He tries to take him to find his father and Ender screamed bloody murder. Maria, who works security at the front desk looked about ready to have him arrested."

"Is there security footage?"

"I might be able to snag some tomorrow." Neal gave into temptation and snagged Mozzie's glass taking a sip, and savouring the flavour on his tongue.

"Remind me to buy that kid whatever he wants for Christmas."

* * *

Ender was sitting contentedly in one of the filing rooms playing with his cassette tape cases, setting them up like a giant set of dominos. Mr. Hughes had ruined his project a couple days ago by prematurely knocking over his masterpiece, but Ender was determined to try again. His goal was to film the entire production and then post it on You Tube to see how many hits he could get. May be a hundred. That would mean a lot of people watched.

The plan was to have the cases begin zigzagging across the table, with one case falling off to the floor which would set of a new chain reaction where the cases separated, and crossed back and forth before coming back together in a spiral until the last case fell in the middle.

It was very well planned if Ender said so himself.

To ensure the cases all fell according to plan Ender was building the design backwards so he could work his way out of the room instead of risk knocking a case over too soon.

"That's pretty impressive."

Ender's eyes snapped up to the doorway, where Agent Kramer now stood.

The kid didn't say anything, just regarded the man with suspicious blue eyes.

"Does Peter know you're here playing with his evidence?" He gestured to the room and the cases as if to imply Ender shouldn't be there.

"What my father does or doesn't know is none of your concern." Ender glared at him, then placed another case in the pattern.

"Uh, uh, uh…" Kramer took on the tone of a disappointed father. "I'm not one of Peter's little lackies who you can speak however you want to because they won't report you to daddy."

"And I'm not one of those snivelling cowards who work for you, who only show you respect because you'd try and destroy their careers if they didn't."

Kramer carefully watched him for a moment and Ender stared back. "You've got guts kid, I'll give you that much."

"And you've got an overly developed sense of self-worth, if you think I care about your opinion of me." Ender glowered a moment longer before going back to his task.

"You've been hanging around Caffrey too much. You don't seem to realise I'm one of the good guys kiddo."

Ender paused from his project by kept his eyes on the cases. The he pushed himself to his feet and stared down Kramer, enunciating in his perfect little accent. "What I know is you're just like all those cops who came to our house and believed all the lies my foster parents told about why we didn't go to school, or why my foster brother just ran away one day, when they really murdered him.

What I know is that the only people who matter to people like you, are the ones who are carbon copies of your own deluded fantasies, and the rest of us are just garbage you can toss out like yesterday's newspaper.

Now if you'll excuse me _Inspector_ Javert, I have work to do." And he dropped back down to return to his cassette cases.

Kramer just stared at him.

Ender looked back up. "You knock over my cases, I'll scream again."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of destroying your… masterpiece." Kramer looked around the room in disbelief.

His hand shaking from concentration, Ender placed one of the cases on the edge of the table, estimating that when it fell it would hit the bottom case and set off the next set of dominos.

"You know, I really don't understand all this hostility. You father and I happen to be good friends."

"Were."

"What?"

"Were. You were good friends. He doesn't like you anymore."

"Where would you get a ridiculous idea like that?"

"I heard him telling mummy at dinner last night." Ender made a face at Kramer's expression. "What? Just because I'm little doesn't mean I don't have ears?"

"This is one of those thing I wouldn't expect a child to understand."

"You tried to ruin my daddy's life. What's not to understand?"

"A criminal was about to ruin his life. Any good mentor looks out for his people, even if he's no longer their boss."

Ender's eyes suddenly teared up. "Is that why you're here? Because you want to arrest me and throw me in jail, because I'm going to ruin daddy's life." His lip began quivering and the tears tricked down pale cheeks.

Kramer immediately held his hands up. The kid could change emotions in an instance and he had no idea if it was an act or real but he really didn't want to deal with an emotional child.

"No, no, no… Don't cry. I didn't mean you, I meant Caffrey." He stepped forward bumping into table. The impact knocked off the domino Ender had just placed at the edge of the table.

Ender and Kramer both watched, as the domino fell in slow motion. An eternity later it hit the ground, bouncing slowing and knocking into the rows on the floor, setting off the chain reaction.

The cases started to fall, each bumping into the next. A clicking sound could be heard as each case hit others, the speed picking up as the rows began crossing back and forth before coming back together and circling end to the finish.

Ender just stood there, his mouth wide open staring at three hours of work down the drain.

"At least you know it works."

The kid looked up with big eyes. "You're the devil." He screamed and ran out of the room.


	12. Silent Night

**A/N**: Next chapter is here, a mix of interactions between the main characters including a fight between Peter and Ender with Peter being all parental. I created Ender to have a spunky little personality, but I also don't want him being a total obnoxious brat. I don't see Peter ever allowing him to be completely disrespectful to himself or to other adults, and it's actually outside of Ender's character to be insubordinate to most adults. So even though Kramer was horrible, I can't imagine Peter letting him get away with poor behaviour.

Also, the conversation between Neal and Ender at the end will not make sense until the next story, although feel free to speculate what everything means. I promise it isn't just idol chatter.

And I only read this a couple times so if something doesn't make sense let me know.

* * *

**Silent Night**

Neal arrived at FBI headquarters rather excited, considering his mood yesterday. He was prepared to pass on Mozzie's information about Giordano to Peter with the hope that the info would lead to an arrest. A legal arrest, and the recovery of Nativity, would be another win for the Caffrey-Burke team and would hopefully send Kramer back to DC with his tail between his legs.

Killing two birds with one stone was one of the mottos of every conman.

Lost in his own fantasies of Kramer's very public humiliation, that might or might not have involved the man being led off in chains, Neal felt positively giddy by the time he walked off the elevator. Twirling his hat and whistling Jingle Bells Neal plopped down in his seat. He glanced up at Peter's office door, which was currently closed, but the lights were on. This meant Peter was here, but apparently didn't want other people bothering him at the moment.

Neal thought he would give the agent a few minutes and then head in to speak with him. A moment later the door swung open and Ender stalked out.

Peter followed him out. "Go clean up the cassette cases," he pointed towards the door.

Ender had tears in his eyes. "But it's for my You Tube video. I want "hits" because that means people watched it and I'm cool." He was rocking back and forth on his heels trying to emphasise his point with his hands.

Peter didn't look impressed. "You are not allowed to play with evidence. It would be a legal nightmare if anything got lost. Now go pick everything up, and put them back where you got them."

"But he knocked them over on purpose. You can arrest him for Criminal Mischief in the First Degree. He destroyed my property. That's a Class B Felony." Ender looked plaintive, his lip puckering out in a pathetic pout.

"First of all those tapes aren't yours which negates the personal property and second he would have had to use explosives, to legally be Criminal Mischief in the First Degree, which I seriously doubt could have been brought into the building. Now go clean up the cases."

Ender puckered his face and put his hands on his hips.

For a second Peter looked down then at the agents in the bull pen who were watching the scene unfold with awed expressions. There was a flurry of papers as people promptly looked away amidst the senior agent's scrutiny.

Then Peter grabbed Ender by the arm and pulled him back into the office. The pair was out of the line people's line of sight but that didn't stop the conversation from carrying.

"Stop acting like a brat." Peter clearly hissed. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but neither your mother and I will tolerate this type of behaviour, regardless of what someone else does. Now clean up the cases or you will strong sit in the corner for five minutes."

There was dead silence and then a few minutes later Ender appeared. He didn't look happy but the mutinous face was gone. Neal had to admire the poise, after clearly getting chewed out with the entire office witness.

A moment later Peter stood at the railing and gave Neal his infamous two-finger point. Neal hopped up and ascended the stairs taking a seat in the chair in front of Peter's desk.

"It looks like there's a story to tell there." Neal leaned back the picture of casual innocence. He balanced on the back legs of the chair for a moment, regarding Peter with an amused expression.

Peter just rolled his eyes. "If I find out you put him up to this…" the agent muttered and collapsed down in his own chair.

In an instance Neal shifted forward again his expression ingenuous. "I have no idea what you're talking about Peter."

Peter had seen the look countless times before, the most memorable time was when he'd first confronted Neal about renting the apartment at June's and Neal had stood there clutching his hat and looking all doe eyed.

"This I'm going to act like a brat in front of Agent Kramer." Peter shook his head. "He's screamed at him, and now apparently called him the devil for knocking over that domino project I told him he wasn't allowed to make in the first place."

"Peter he's six. And Kramer isn't exactly your favourite person in the world. If Ender were my son I wouldn't want him to get all chummy with the spawn of Satan."

Peter jabbed his finger in Neal's direction. "You see. This is what I'm talking about. Don't encourage him."

"You don't even like the guy Peter." Neal couldn't believe the agent was getting so upset by Ender's little attitude. Neal thought the kid should get a medal.

"We stay professional Neal. It's part of the job. If I let my personal feelings affect this case it will lead to problems, and give Kramer ammunition he can use against us in the future. I want this case solved so he can go back to DC."

"In Ender's defence Kramer really did try to grab his arm down in the lobby. Even Agent Rice was disturbed by what happened, and you know her track record for supporting criminals."

"Just don't encourage him, please. You're supposed to be setting the example as big brother." In truth, Peter loved fatherhood. For the most part Ender was a sweet kid as well as adorable, intelligent, and well spoken. He was even relatively affectionate, something his therapist was encouraged by, considering most kids coming out of abusive relationships often shunned any physical interaction.

But days like this Peter felt frustrated. As much as he loathed Kramer's actions he couldn't justify letting his child be disrespectful.

"Well if you want him gone, I have news." Neal gave his most charming grin. "Mozzie found out where Giordano's planning the exchange.

Peter immediately sat up straighter in his chair. "Where? When?"

"Giordano has this pizza joint in Queen's he loves to visit. Apparently, he 'rented' out the entire place for a 'business lunch' next Friday." Neal looked a bit smug. Criminal sleuthing-one, Kramer's FBI type work-zero.

"Who rents out a pizza place for a business lunch?" Peter would never understand the criminal underworld.

"And for a Caravaggio. Giordano may like expensive art, but he has not class." Neal put his two cents in.

"Give the address to Diana, I'll have her and Jones arrange surveillance." Peter hopped out of seat and barked their names at the door. A moment later both junior agents appeared.

"Neal found Giordano. Get surveillance set up, but keep it as minimal as possible. They're going to be extra jumpy and if either he or de Vitis even suspect a set-up they'll probably cancel the entire thing.

"We can set up static surveillance in one of the surrounding buildings, since someone might recognise the van." Jones pointed out. "Shouldn't be too hard to keep ourselves invisible."

"Yes!" Neal cheered. And at three sets of eyes now staring at him added. "No van duty. You know how much I hate the van."

"Because your comfort is always my chief concern when setting up an operation Caffrey," Diana smirked and then glided back out of the room, papers in hand.

"It's nice to know you finally have your priorities in order," Neal called after her.

Jones just shook his head and left. Neal liked to have the last word and he was usually good at getting it.

"I'm going back to my desk and continue being brilliant." The conman gracefully rose to his feet and almost bumped into Kramer as he exited.

"Sorry Agent Kramer." Neal's tone was clipped, but still held a respectful edge.

"Caffrey." Kramer watched the other man's retreating back for a moment then walked in and sat down.

"Peter."

The other man kept a carefully neutral expression. "Phil."

Kramer shifter for a moment in his seat. "Look Petey, I'm sorry about before with Ender. I didn't mean to knock over his…" He gestured for a moment, clearly stuck for the right word. "Project."

Peter wasn't sure how genuine the apology was but he didn't think Kramer would deliberately hurt his child. "He wasn't supposed to be playing with those things anyway. And I'm sorry he was so disrespectful. Normally he's the picture of manners."

"Yes, well… I know most of your agents are mad at me right now, but I still stand by my actions. Caffrey will ruin you Peter. And I don't want to see a good agent's career destroyed over a lost cause."

Peter was about to accept the apology, but at that statement his eyes narrowed. "Neal is not a lost cause. And it's a shame you can't see how much he has changed by working here. He's done a lot of good, and there were cases here I don't know if we could have closed without him. Yes, he walks a fine line and I would sometimes like him to not venture so close. But Neal is a good man, and he is trying to change."

"Sometimes its not worth the risk Peter. I've known more than one agent who was hurt because they put too much faith in a criminal. I don't want you to become another statistic. You very nearly were."

"I think you had a far more to do with me almost losing my job than Neal ever did," Peter grit out.

"I'm not going to apologise for what I did. That boy stole the treasure and he lied about it. He's a menace." Kramer was getting heated too.

Peter did not want to keep having this argument. Kramer would never trust Neal and despite how much frustration Neal caused Peter would still feel the need to defend him.

"Then I guess it's a good thing he's not working for you down in DC or you'd have a real problem on your hands. In the mean time I have a case to solve and thanks to Neal we have our first new lead. The most likely place for the next exchange set to happen next Friday. Jones and Diana are setting up surveillance so we should know more soon."

"You sure this information can be trusted?"

"I trust it more than I trust you at the moment." Peter quirked an eyebrow daring Kramer to argue.

The older agent kept his expression neutral but Peter could tell by the clenching of his jaw he wasn't happy. "I guess well find out on Friday."

* * *

Ender sat in one of the evidence rooms glumly putting all the cases back into the box. He didn't think it was fair he had to put everything away just because he'd called agent Kramer an ass. It wasn't like he was lying.

Granted, he shouldn't have been disrespectful to daddy, but he'd worked for hours, and first the man had insulted his father, and then he knocked over Ender's toy. Grown ups always got to break the rules, but kids got punished.

"Sorry about your dominos." Neal dropped down on the floor next to him and began to help put them back into the nearby box.

"I was so close. It could have been an internet sensation."

"Yeah well, fifteen minutes of fame isn't all its cracked up to be. Besides. There's something to be said for anonymity on the web."

"He's a jerk."

"Lot's of adults are." Neal turned one of the cases over a few times in his fingertips before dropping it into the box.

"I just wish…" Ender fumed. He paused for a moment staring at the floor. "I just wish sometimes I…" The words either wouldn't come, or Ender didn't want to say it out loud.

"I know what you mean." Neal muttered. People always seemed to think the world turned to gold at his touch. They didn't see everything else that went along with it. All the pain and loss he'd suffered throughout his life.

"Do you ever miss it Nealcen?"

Neal shrugged. "Sometimes. I miss the games. The camaraderie. The world at our fingertips."

"I miss Patchett. And Domrémy and Haidran. Knowing someone loved me no matter what." Ender slid one of the cases across the floor knocking it into another like a game of bumper cars, or marbles.

"Peter loves you. He and Elizabeth adore you."

Ender nodded. "I know. I love them too. Peter probably hates me right now." He looked genuinely sad and close to tears. Not the fake tears that could well up at the drop of a hat either.

Neal made a face. "Why?"

"Cause I was disrespectful."

"You've obviously never seen me and him go at it. Believe me. You are still adored." Ender was beyond adored. To Peter and Elizabeth, he was the little prince.

"He wants me to apologise." A pout was clearly forming.

"To Kramer?"

A nod.

"Ouch." Maybe Ender really did say something bad.

"I don't even care that I have to apologise, it's just he's probably going to be all patronising about it." Ender folded his arms. "I should get him fired."

"You're usually not this vindictive."

"I'm just so tired of watching people I care about get hurt, and the bad guy getting away with it."

"I know the feeling." Neal adjusted himself so he was now cross-legged. "Sometimes life just sucks."

"Yeah." Ender tossed the last few cases into the box. "Can I ask you a question?"

That surprised Neal. Ender never asked permission. He was always the one giving the orders, and he was good at it.

"Sure."

"Do you know what daddy should buy mummy for Christmas?" Ender was still looking down. "I tried everything but I still have no idea what to tell him. He wants to buy her the perfect present, but I don't know what's considered perfect."

Neal should feel smug. He'd clearly won this one, but Ender looked so dejected it was hard to feel self-righteous.

"Tell him to buy her one of those bracelets. The one where you can choose the different beads. Tell him to choose different beads for something memorable from each year they were married."

"She'll like that? She doesn't want diamonds or something?"

"If it were that simple Peter wouldn't have asked you." Peter's gift giving skills did seem to be lacking a bit.

"He's probably going to know I didn't come up with that idea."

Neal just chuckled. "Keep the money. Buy your snake. Then leave it in Peter's office an see what happens."

A grin appeared on Ender's lips for a moment then it went away. "I really wanted a puppy, but I don't think they'll get me one. They have Satchmo."

"Santa might." Neal still found it funny the kid had written a letter so Santa Clause. Ender was the last kid in the world to believe in fairy tales like that.

Ender gave him a 'seriously' look.

"Santa exists so parents can justify getting their kids something they would otherwise never buy. You seriously need to get more adjusted to this real world life."

"Or I could leave the snake in Kramer's suitcase and see what happens when he gets back to DC." Ender smirked.

"If you're brave enough to do that I'll give you one hundred dollars right now."


	13. Carol of the Bells

**A/N**: Thanks so much to all the faithful reviewers and readers. You are amazing, and make writing so much more fun. Been hard at work on the next chapter and here it is.

If anyone cares, the technique I have Ender do in this chapter is a real therapy technique used with kids, who are diagnosed with reactive attachment disorder, something a lot of foster kids develop. I do lots of research before every story to make things realistic, and I wanted to include a little about the parenting issues Peter and El would most likely face as adoptive parents. Ender is actually a little more well-adjusted than most kids would be, who went through a similar trauma, but too many problems and that would be the stories main focus which I did not want.

* * *

**Carol of the Bells**

Four days later Diana interrupted Peter's internal musings by dropping a folder onto the desk in front of him.

"What? Huh?" Peter jerked upright, looking around to find the source of the sound.

Diana audibly smirked. "Heads up boss."

Peter groaned at being caught daydreaming at the office. At least with Diana he knew she wouldn't hold it against him.

"Caffrey was right. Giordano's a regular at Malacarne's Pizzaria. And one of our plain clothes agents who stopped in for a slice overheard the staff telling another customer the stop would be closed this coming Friday for a personal party."

She spread the surveillance photos out across the desk showing Giordano and several other gentlemen entering and exiting the Pizzaria.

"So we know where the meeting will take place, do we know anything else about who'll be there? What sort of security they'll have set up? What time the actual meeting will take place?"

Planning a sting was akin to the work of planning a wedding, except without cake and throwing of rice at the end. Although, Peter had witnessed more than one crying bride after an operation was over.

"We're still working on the exact time, although Neal's little pint-sized friend might be able to help us out with that. De Vitis's men don't appear to have showed up yet, and they'll most likely want to check the place out before the meeting, but there are still a few days left.

"And de Vitis is probably still on high alert after the last meeting. He must want this business deal pretty badly if he's willing to risk another meeting so soon. Makes me wonder what sort of business merger these guys are planning."

"Aside from the usual smuggling, murder and corruption. With the mob it's hard to tell." Diana just shrugged. She was good at her job, but when it came to thinking with the exact mind of a criminal, it went beyond her capability. Besides, that's why they had Caffrey.

Diana looked around the office and her eyes suddenly settled in the corner. She visibly frowned "What exactly is the munchkin doing boss? I didn't know you were into meditation."

Peter's eyes jerked over to the corner. Ender was sitting Indian style facing the corner, his hands twisted and clasped at his chest.

"It's called strong-sitting, some technique his therapist suggested. Supposed to be calming and help the brain focus. He seems to like it." Peter shrugged.

After years of being intimidated by El's father, Dr. Mitchell, Peter really wasn't really a fan of psychology, psychiatry, psychopathology, or anything ese with an ology for that matter. But he was willing to do anything to help Ender, even if it meant lying down on some couch and talking about feelings with some shrink. Fortunately though, he'd been spared that humiliation, but both he an El attended therapy with the kid once a week.

"Looks intense."

"The therapist says it's supposed to increase blood flow to the frontal brain and help respiration and self-control." Peter made a face. "What do I know I'm not a therapist?"

A moment later Ender dropped his hands. "You not supposed to be talking. My strong-sitting corner should be comfortable AND free from distraction, and the talking is not distraction-free."

"Sorry kiddo. Agent Barrigan was just telling me about catching the bad guy."

Ender turned around and peered at him frustratedly. "It's not like I couldn't hear what you guys were saying," he enunciated in his crisp little accent.

"So next time I ask you to do something you can't use I didn't hear you, I'm strong-sitting, as an excuse?"

The kid simply smirked and hopped up to his feet. "I've never say I don't hear you."

"Oh, no." Peter gave Diana a quick shake of his head, to quickly counter the statement. Diana was standing there watching the argument with amusement.

"I say I can't listen to you. Ms. Samuels doesn't like me focusing on other things while I'm sitting. It's bad for me." The kid pulled himself into Peter's lap and began looking at the photo's spread across the desktop.

"How very convenient." Peter pointed out.

"You can ask her if you don't believe me."

"I'll take your word for it… Don't put your fingerprints all over these." Peter yanked the photos out of the kid's hands. "You want to touch something you hold the edges."

Ender didn't seem perturbed by the scolding. "Is this the person you're trying to catch?"

"That's him."

"When you catch him, can I watch you interrogate him. Neal says you do an awesome bad cop."

Peter puffed up for a moment. It was nice when your kids appreciated your skills. "I'll think about it."

* * *

Peter usually enjoyed planning sting operations. It was the final move of the chess match before checkmate. Each piece was carefully positioned forcing the other player to make specific pre-planned movies that resulted in a favourable endgame for him.

Planning this operation reminded him of senior year when he had to have all four wisdom teeth removed because they'd become impacted. And now he couldn't even get a shot of Lidocaine before the procedure.

But Neal was being Neal, and Kramer wasn't about to trust anything Neal said and the rest of the agents were watching the situation unfold with awed expressions, as if at any moment someone was going to explode into a thousand pieces.

Well, judging by the shade of red Kramer was turning he might.

"You can't just walk into the middle of this exchange Caffrey, unless you're intentionally planning on helping the mob get away scot-free with the painting."

Neal looked affronted. "I'm not suggested we give them an escort back to Giordano's residents, or tips on where to hang his painting. I'm only saying in these sorts of situations you have to throw them off guard. Disrupt to normal play."

"Because that philosophy worked out so well for you last time." Kramer drew himself up and turned to face Peter.

"I know this is your home turf Peter. But I've worked dozens of cases with the mafia before. You go in and spook these guys and bullets will start flying. The Nativity might be destroyed. You can't seriously consider sending Sinatra here in to charm these guys with his hat and a smile because he'll cost us the entire operation."

"Neal they do already know you as James Halstead and Giordano already warned you to leave the country. You can't walk back in there under a different alias and expect to live." Peter may not like Kramer at the moment, but he couldn't argue with reason.

"I say I heard about the deal and wanted in their operation, especially if they're planning on smuggling in any new art. I can also suggest to Giordano that the painting needs to be re-verified since it's been out of his site for over a week. Or I can simply offer them my services as a forger. That has to be worth big bucks to them."

Kramer snorted at Neal's reference to his forging skills but Peter paused. "That's if they don't shoot you on site for interrupting the deal."

"When have I been unable to talk myself out of a situation Peter."

"Oh I don't know. About a week ago when Giordano sliced you up like a salad tomato."

"Or when Van Horn almost shot you with his crossbow." Diana added.

"First, the shot wasn't even close. And Van Horn only tried to kill me because he saw me trying to help Jimmy. By that time talking was a moot point. I'm still useful to Giordano. Besides, the Cosa Nostra usually frowns upon murder because of all the clean-up involved." Neal always had an answer for everything and he was good at making any idea sound reasonable.

"This operation needs to be done by the book Peter." Kramer jumped back into the conversation as he suddenly realised Peter was considering Neal's suggestion.

"I'm well aware of how important this case is Phil," Peter turned to stare him down. "But my city my rules. I know my people and I know what they are capable of. If Neal says he can talk his way into this meeting then I believe him."

"We can just as easily surround the building without an inside man."

"And having someone in there gives us a better picture of the situation. Besides, Neal's right. We want to ensure this really is the real painting and de Vitis isn't trying to pull a fast one by keeping the painting real for himself. It would be a shame if we went through all this for a forgery."

Kramer's gaze was steely. "I think this is a mistake."

Peter gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Dismissed," he indicated to the other agents in the room. They scattered taking the hint that their boss was about to have it out with his former mentor and they weren't supposed to be there to witness it.

Peter walked Neal out himself, pointing towards the man's desk to indicate he should get back to work, before shutting the door a bit more forceful than necessary and turning to face Kramer.

"I get that you don't like how I run my department. I get that you don't trust Neal. Do I trust him 100% in a room full of shiny objects? No. But I've also seen what he's capable of, and he does have a point about needing to re -authenticate this painting."

"Are you doing this to authenticate the painting, or because I don't want you to."

Peter paused for a moment, then smiled. "Maybe a little bit of both."

Kramer just sighed. "I know you probably won't forgive me for what I did Petey, and you don't seem to believe me no matter how many times I say it, but I made the decision I did to protect you."

"But you went about it all wrong Phil. You crossed the line and tried to take Neal away on a trumped up charge. You played the law just like you accuse him of doing. And then when Neal ran you had the FBI send Kyle Collins back to retrieve him, a man who lied, who manipulated, who ransacked my house on a false warrant and who put a bullet in Neal's leg when he was tied to a chair in the name of justice."

"It's Collin's job to bring back fugitives. And as I have already told you, Neal will ruin you." Kramer justified.

"And what do we teach him about becoming an upstanding, law-abiding citizen by breaking the law to get what we want. Why would Neal ever have an incentive to do the right thing when he sees the people who put him away legally allowed to get away with far worse crimes than he ever committed in the name of 'justice'. You're just like him Phil, worse even because you should know better. You and Collins and everyone here should."

Peter hated how he saw so many people who were supposed to uphold the law use loopholes to break it.

Cops who turned their lights on when they didn't really have a call, just because they didn't want to wait at a red light.

Prosecutors and their families who called in favours with judges to get their speeding tickets or DUIs written off.

And judges who used their position to carry out their own personal vendetta against anyone who reminded them of someone who'd wronged them sometime in their lives. It mad him sick.

Sometimes Peter felt the only difference between those sorts of people and the criminals they put away was where they sat in the courtroom.

Peter stood there for a moment stewing before he realised Kramer hadn't responded. The man just stood there staring at him. Peter waited and waited expecting Kramer to snap back at him, but the man said nothing. A moment later he turned and walked out of the room.

* * *

**A/N:** Comments, questions, complaints. Leave a review and let me know...


	14. In Dulci Jubilo

**A/N:** Thanks again to all the faithful reviews. I enjoy reading all you comments. Just another couple chapters and then this story will be finished. I've already started planning out my next story call 'Crosshairs." It's a look into my own version of Neal's past and how he became the person he is today. But before you get too invested, please read the warnings I will post at the beginning since the story will be a bit different than my usual style, not to mention a different take on things than I think anyone else has posted on this fandom, with some themes people might not like.

For this chapter I thought it would be fun to show Peter going jewellery shopping for El's gift, plus I set-up the stakeout. I think there will be two more chapters for this story unless something changes next chapter. One to close the case and another for Christmas where we see if El loves her present. And if Ender gets his puppy.

* * *

**In Dulci Jubilo**

Shopping was probably one of Peter's least favourite tasks in the world. He didn't even mind that he fell under the typical male shopping stereotype. If he needed to buy something he walked into the store, grabbed the first thing he saw that fit the basic description, paid for it and left as quickly as possible before anyone saw him.

And as much as he loved El, it was similar when he wanted to shop for her. His ideal shopping trip meant that her perfect gift would be sitting at the store entrance with neon arrows pointing down, and the words 'Buy this' hanging overhead.

Unfortunately life was never quite so easy, Peter told himself as he walked into the jewellery story to purchase El's gift. Peter had to admit this was a good idea. One so simple he had no idea why he hadn't thought of it earlier.

A smiling girl at the counter, with a name-tag reading Celia, greeted him and Ender, before asking how she could help them out.

"I'm looking for a gift for my wife. One of those Panda bracelets with all the beads."

"A Pandora bracelet." Ender piped up, pressed up on his toes, the tips of his fingers gripping the counter-top as he kept himself balanced. For a moment, Peter wanted to pull him away, and remind him he was smudging the counter, but no one else seemed to mind, so he decided he shouldn't make a scene.

The girl's eyes lit up. "What a wonderful choice, I'm sure your wife will love it."

Peter looked around a bit daunted. "So how exactly does all this work?" He gestured around with his hands at the counters around the showroom.

Apparently he wasn't the first clueless husband to walk in because the Celia didn't seem put off by his confusion.

She immediately launched into her sales spiel. "You pick a starter bracelet first and then add the beads. You can choose between leather, which is the cheapest, or if you prefer something more traditional there's sterling silver or 14 karat gold." She laid them out on a velvet display case on the counter.

"I want mummy to have gold." Ender was eying the bracelets carefully, from his position just left of Peter.

"An excellent choice." Celia smiled and held it out so Peter could inspect it further.

Peter fingered the chain and nodded his agreement. He did want El to have the best. "How much?"

"Fourteen hundred."

Peter practically choked on his own salvia, as the bracelet slipped from his fingers and back onto the display pillow. "Fourteen hundred? As in one thousand four hundred dollars? For just the bracelet?"

"It _is_ 14 karat gold." Celia stressed.

"What about the silver?" A supervisory agent did well, but not that well.

"Sixty-five dollars."

"We'll take the silver." Peter felt his heart rate slow back down a bit.

"But daddy." Ender looked at him with plaintive eyes.

"Ender, I still have to afford the charms." Peter was trying to keep a smile on his face.

"So what sort of charms were you thinking about?"

"One to signify something important for each year we've been married."

Celia audibly sighed. "That's so romantic. I wish my boyfriend would do something like that."

Peter had been agonising about this, ever since he heard the suggestion. What was important and memorable about their different years together that could be represented in a charm?

"These are all our charms." Celia gestured to the case in front, divided up into little containers full of tiny figurines and beads. "We have something to represent pretty much every occasion, so if you just tell me what you're looking for I'll be able to show you some options."

"Well, do you have anything to represent marriage?" Peter cringed. It sounded better in his head before the words came out.

"We have this ring, a wedding cake, or this is the union bead." She placed the third one, a small silver bead that looked like a pillow with two gold rings resting on top, on the display pad.

"That one." Ender fervently pointed. "I like the last one. It's gold _and_ silver."

"Why does it have to be both?" Peter couldn't figure out if Ender wanted gold because he thought it really was what El would like, or because of something he saw on television.

"Because if it has both, mummy can wear it with gold or silver jewellery."

Peter was surprised by his answer. "And you know this how?"

Ender gave him his famous 'duh' look. "Because I heard Miss Cindy and her girlfriends talking about their engagement rings, the other day."

"Cindy's engaged?" Peter was sure Neal would have mentioned something.

"No, it was one of their fantasy girl talks." His voice changed to a bit more falsetto with an American accent. 'He's going to propose in a horse drawn carriage surrounded by two-hundred roses, or I'll say no.' Ender gave a pretty good imitation of Cindy's inflections. "And Cindy's a girl and girls know about jewellery."

Peter couldn't argue with that. He looked back up at Celia who had an amused expression on her face. She tried to brighten her smile, as if to encourage him to make a decision.

"Well go with that one." Peter smiled tightly and pointed at the little pillow. One down, only thirteen more to go.

It took a bit, but Peter finally managed to select twelve more charms, including a gold puppy for the year they got Satchmo, a little house to represent when they purchased their current town home and Big Ben for when they took a trip to London during the earlier years of their marriage. He even found a little wineglass for the year El began her event business, and two beads held together by a tiny chain, looking a bit like handcuffs that he used to represent when he caught Neal. He knew El would get a kick out of it.

"So that just leaves this year." Peter hoped El liked this because he'd never spent this much time agonising over one present. "What to get, what to get?" He mused out loud.

There was a pause and then Ender grabbed his arm. "Daddy…"

"Hold on Ender I'm thinking of something memorable." Peter pulled away.

"But daddy. What about me?"

"Ender give me a minute." The agent fought to keep a smile from creeping onto his face.

The kid latched onto his wrist and pulled Peter's hand down. "Daddy! Me! I need a bead."

"You?" Peter paused for a moment, a confused expression playing on his face. "Did we get you this year?"

"Yes!" Ender exclaimed. "You can't have forgotten. I'm important."

"I don't know, this was also the year El landed that huge client for her business."

Ender's jaw dropped. "You have Satchmo on there, but I get replaced with one of mummy's clients?"

Peter gave a sympathetic nod. "It is a tough decision."

"Daddy!"

Chuckling Peter picked the kid up. "I'm kidding. Choose the bead for you kiddo. What do you want?"

Ender stared at the cases for a long moment, considering his options. "That one." He pointed at a small bead with a dragon on it.

Peter looked surprised. "Why that one?"

"Because it's me."

After almost two hours in the store the agent wasn't going to argue. He turned back to Celia "I think we have everything."

She smiled. "I'll just put this together and ring it up for you. Be back in a moment."

She disappeared into the back of the shop and a few minutes later appeared with a small jewellery box, showing the contents to Peter.

It did look beautiful, Peter told himself, with all the different colours and shapes, yet somehow the pieces still managed to tastefully fit together.

"That will be $1, 277.99; including tax."

Peter bit his tongue to keep from swearing out loud. _This is for El. El will love it. You're doing this because she is the best wife in the world and therefore deserves the best Christmas present_, he kept telling himself in his head as he pulled out his credit card and handed it to the girl.

As the accountant in the family he pays all the bills so hopefully she will never see this transaction. And maybe Peter will also be able to erase this experience from his memory, and just focus on how much El loves her present.

* * *

before everything began.

His former mentor was either questioning everything he did, or shooting over looks to show how displeased he was by one of Peter's decisions.

If he got out of this without committing murder it would be a good day.

"So Ender says you picked out El's present, Peter." Neal held his hat to his to his chest, his eyes sad. "Peter how could you not bring along my expertise. How mean, how could you not get her gold?"

Peter just rolled her eyes. "I took over two hours agonising which of the those little charm things to put on it and spent over twelve hundred dollars. You do not get to lecture me on being a lousy husband."

Neal couldn't keep the twinkle out of his eyes. "Finally learning how to play the marriage game Peter. Woman love expensive things."

"This is about the sentimental value." Peter stressed. "That's what El will appreciate more than the cost."

"If you say so." Neal shrugged and toyed with his hatband.

"I think I know my wife a little better than you."

"And yet you had to bribe your six year old to find the perfect present."

"I told you that was to help them bond. I could have found out something on my own."

"Keep telling yourself that." Neal replied matter-o-factly.

"Are you all set for this afternoon?" Peter changed the topic before Neal got any more smug.

"I'm always ready."

"Do I have to remind you how important this is?" Kramer had been shooting Peter dirty looks all afternoon and finger his cell phone as if he was going to call Washington the second it looked like something was about to go wrong.

"Peter." Neal finally looked serious. "I get it. I don't want Kramer to win either."

* * *

Sitting in his Taurus with Kramer was not the stakeout Peter was looking forward to. After the last fiasco, everyone agreed the utility van would most likely garner too much attention and everyone was sticking to civilian vehicles to surround the pizza shop, with the main surveillance team set-up in the nearby apartment over looking the target location.

Peter found a football game on the radio and promptly ignored the other man. He mostly ran stakeouts with Neal, and it was odd to have anyone else sitting shotgun, even if Neal whined endlessly about the food, and the game and anything else he thought would get on Peter's nerves. It had become comfortable.

"So you buy El's Christmas present yet?" Kramer jerked Peter from his musings.

"Of course."

Kramer chuckled. "I just remember you were never good in the whole female/dating department. Remember when we sent you undercover and you had to talk with that museum assistance. You complimented her shoes and then asked her, her size."

Peter groaned inwardly. How could he ever forget when the other agents had teased him about it for weeks? Even more shocking was the fact that the girl gave him her phone number. Apparently she thought he was sweet.

"I've improved since then." Peter argued. "I can't be completely clueless if I managed to snag El."

"Petey, women want a guy they can change. And they look for guys who aren't perfect, but who have the potential to be moulded into their fantasy man."

"Thank you Dr. Phil." Peter really didn't need a man who'd been twice divorced to lecture him on what women wanted.

"Do you have to take offence to everything I'm saying now? I'm just saying El likes the fact that you're so clueless about women. She thinks it's adorable."

"I'm not clueless. I even got her one of the Panda bracelets for Christmas. With a charm for every year we've been married. Fourteen of them."

Kramer's face pinched up. "Don't you mean Pandora bracelet?"

"Whatever?" Peter grabbed for his binoculars to have something to do with his hands when he heard Diana's voice over the radio.

"De Vitis is arriving. He and his men just exited their car. Two removed a case from the trunk. Must be the painting."

"Neal are you in position?" Peter thumbed his radio.

"All set. I'll give them a minute to get the introductions out of the way before I go in." Neal's voice sounded a little gravely over they radio.

Peter nodded to himself and placed the radio back down in his lap.

"You have an awful lot of faith in that boy." Kramer remarked.

"You might be surprised today." Peter replied.

"Here's to hoping." Kramer muttered. His tone suggested he didn't believe the words.

A few minutes later Peter saw Neal strolling down the sidewalk, hands casually placed in his pockets. How Neal could so easily walk into a room full of mob members carrying guns, Peter could only guess? Neal never seemed fazed by danger. It was almost like someone had trained it out of him as a child.

"Gentleman." Neal's voice appeared over the comms, followed by the sound of weapons cocking.


	15. Let It Snow

**A/N:** This is the second to last chapter of this story. My apologies, if I slaughtered the Italian. I will place all blame on Google translator.

I want to thank everyone who has stuck with this story to the end. So many people offered amazing comments and suggestions that have added to the development of this story.

I'm also working on the first chapter of Crosshairs. There seems to be some interest in the story so I will get this story finished as soon as possible so I can move on to that one. Although I hope people following this one will still enjoy the last couple chapters.

* * *

**Let It Snow**

The cocking of twenty guns at once was not a sound Neal ever found enjoyable. Especially when those guns were pointed at him.

"Can't you read the sign idiot? This place is closed." One of the bodyguards snarled.

Putting on a jaunty smile, Neal chose not to appear daunted. "But I heard this place has the best pizza in town and since I was in the area I thought, why not get a slice?"

There was a pause where it appeared no one knew what to say to that. Then, "Wait a minute. You're the art expert I hired. Mr Halstead. I warned you to get out of town." Giordano stood there looking both confused and angry.

Neal held up his hands in a placating gesture. "That's right you did, and I usually tend to follow sound advice, especially with that strong incentive." Neal's finger's brushed over his arm, where the knife had cut him.

"But after the whole – incident, it occurred to me that you guys still had to exchange the painting, and you..." He carefully gestured at Giordano. "…might want the painting re-authenticated. Especially since it's been out of your sight for several days."

"Are you saying I'm a cheat?" De Vitis took a step forward, his bodyguards mirroring his position.

"I'm not suggesting anything of the sort. I'm just always looking for a new business opportunity. The art world is not the most lucrative place to work. And y_ou_ can't have had the painting in your sight the entire time either. That painting is worth quite of bit of money and it can be hard to find good help these days." Neal gave a charming smile.

That stopped de Vitis in his tracks. His eyes shifted back and forth to his own men. The bodyguards glared at Neal and flexed their muscles a bit.

Neal just gave a casual shrug. "Screwing your boss over. Not very smart."

"Non ci sono trucchi." One of the men menaced. "We would never bring disgrace to our families by the code of the Cosa Nostra," he leered in his thick Italian accent.

De Vitis looked around again appraising the situation. "I trust my men." He growled, which seemed to defuse the tension from their side of the room.

"But I don't." Giordano rejoined the conversation. "I agree. This painting has been out of my sight for over a week. How do I know you're not trying to screw me over?"

"It was awfully convenient that he was the first one to notice the feds and got out of there before they stormed the building," Neal pointed out.

"How dare you." De Vitis spat. "I would never sell family out to the polizia. The Cosa Nostra has too much honour for that. You on the other hand are an – _American_. You would sell out your own mother to spend a day with a _meretrice_."

"You dare insult my family." Giordano shouted back. "I thought you wanted this deal to succeed, but now I'm not so sure."

Neal's plan was going well up until this point. He wanted to create just enough doubt that Giordano asked him to re-evaluate the painting and perhaps let him in on this new business deal, all which would be conveniently recorded by the surveillance team and used as later evidence at trial. He didn't want to create so much distrust that bullets started flying with him in the middle.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Now was the time for Neal to salvage the situation. "I'm sure we can come to a solution that doesn't involve anyone getting shot. I came here strictly to talk business."

"Stai zitto," De Vitis screamed. "You've caused enough problems."

"No you stop. I want him to authenticate my painting." Giordano took a step forward. "Or our deal is off."

There was a momentary stare down between the two men.

De Vitis stood there his chest heaving, staring daggers at first Giordano, then Neal.

"If the painting is the real thing, why would re-authenticating it be a problem?" Giordano questioned. "Or do I cause for concern?"

Another moment of heavy silence. Fingers twitched over triggers. Eyes shifted back and forth and both sides debated their next move.

And eternity later and De Vitis clasped his hands together. "Fine. I have nothing to hide. Unlike you I am a man of honour. Allow the gentlemen to inspect the painting to his hearts content." He motioned with his hands and the box containing the painting was once again brought forth and the canvas unfurled on a row of tables.

Neal wanted to cringe. Exchanging a valuable work of art in some place so pedestrian. He hoped the tables had at least been cleaned first.

"Mr. Halstead." Giordano gestured for Neal to step forward. As the conman approached the other man drew up next to him. "Remember my warning Mr. Halstead. Do not screw me over."

* * *

"I completely understand the seriousness of the situation." Peter heard Neal say over the comms.

Although he wasn't going to breath a sigh of relief until this case was over, some of the tension left his body when Peter heard Giordano side with Neal.

More than once Kramer had hissed at him to send in the agents, but Peter trusted Neal's ability to judge a situation and make the appropriate call. He wouldn't trust Neal with the pin number to his bankcard (not that Neal probably couldn't guess) but trusted Neal to do the right thing during an op.

"Why are you waiting this long?" Kramer was turned sidewise in the seat so he could see Peter. "They're exchanging the painting, your men are in position, and they can't escape this time out the back."

"I don't just want that painting. Whatever brought this it out of the de Vitis family vault is big. I want to know this new business deal."

"Caffrey's in their making deals for more money."

"Neal is ingratiating himself to learn more. You heard him, he's setting Giordano up to get this on tape." Kramer looked ready to argue, but Peter held up his hand to silence him so he could follow the conversation.

* * *

"I don't have cash on me, and I know a gentleman such as yourself doesn't work for free, so what our you asking for as payment in this little arrangement." Giordano asked.

Neal paused from leaning over the painting, where he had been simply admiring its beauty. "I'm in this business because I love art Mr. Giordano. I love how it speaks to the human soul."

One of the guards snorted, but Neal couldn't tell which side they were from.

"And yet you said earlier, you chief reason for coming here was business. If you know I wouldn't not come with money, why are you here."

Neal paused, looking thoughtful. It was always a careful combination of expressions he kept during a con. He never wanted to appear too eager, or too hesitant either. "I know your reputation Mr. Giordano. You appreciate beautiful works of art. A man of such exquisite tastes would most likely want to acquire other items in the future. Such acquisitions would need similar services."

"And you're here to volunteer your services."

"Think of this time as service on account. I'm not going to give you bad information because it hurts my future business dealings, not to mention risks my life. We enter into a, if I may so bold as to use the word, partnership. Which has the potential to be quite lucrative. And my expertise isn't just limited to the paintings. I have a vast amount of knowledge about artefacts, gem stones, sculptures…other exotic wares you might want to bring into this country."

"And if I wanted to use artefacts to bring in other goods, shall we say controlled substances." Giordano asked.

"Shut up you stolto. What are you doing?" de Vitis looked panicked.

"Testing the waters." Giordano shot back.

Neal shrugged carelessly; all the while hoping Peter decided to end this party soon before de Vitis decided he was a liability to the deal.

"Your painting is authentic Mr. Giordano. This is the real Nativity."

Authenticating the painting was supposed to be the teams cue so Neal took pause, preparing his escape plan.

"And my drugs?" Giordano asked. "I need something that won't draw the suspicion of the authorities."

Neal waited, but still no doors were being kicked down.

"Mr. Halstead?"

"Yes," Neal's eyes jerked back over.

"A solution to my problem. Surely a man of your considerable knowledge has a useful suggestion."

Forcing his eyes forward so no one would be suspicious of a gaze that kept looking towards the exit Neal did what all conman did best. He stalled. "It really depends on the type of substance. You can mix things into paint as long as it's something people won't touch because you risk them developing symptoms of drug use. Then you just need a way to separate the drugs back out again. But I thought drug trade was common place for the mob."

"There is nothing common about our cocaine," de Vitis told him, apparently unable to leave any slight to his family undefended. "Our farmacistas found a new way to synthesise the drug which increases potency and length of the euphoria. It has increased our drug trade almost ten fold in my country but we are ready for a larger market."

"And America is the land of opportunity," Neal quipped. _Any time now Peter_, he kept chanting in his head.

Suddenly Neal winced in pain as a hand closed around his upper arm where the knife had cut him earlier. He bit his tongue to keep from crying out, know if he showed weakness, this whole thing would be over.

"So you do not forget our deal." Giordano gripped harder.

Neal shook his head, fighting the tearing in his eyes. "I would never do that...could never do that. You've made your intentions absolutely clear."

The pressure released slightly. "I like you Mr. Halstead. You have coraggioso, and you have proven yourself to be quite useful. Because of that I'm not going to slit your throat."

"I appreciate that." Neal managed to grit out.

"I'll contact you about our future business dealings. In the meantime leave. Family business must be concluded with just family."

"Completely understandable." Neal gave one last, longing look at Nativity and then edged towards the doorway wishing he had a few extra eyes so he could keep watch on more people at one time. He reached the door only to have someone else grab his arm and yank him out, pulling him away and across the street."

"This is the FBI. Everyone keep your hands we're we can see them." Was the command Neal heard a combination of three tactical teams entered and secured the building.

* * *

A/N: I apologise if the scene wasn't more dramatic. Writing action is difficult and my brain cells sort of gave out because it's late here. There will be one more chapter to wrap things up, and kick Kramer back to New York in shame for trying to destroy Neal and Peter's partnership again. And we still need Christmas because Santa has to visit. Ender needs his puppy.


	16. When Love Came Down

**A/N:** So this is it. Kramer runs home to DC and Ender finally gets a Christmas.

I actually have plans to add one more little short after this chapter. It's a cute scene I imagined that just didn't fit into this chapter, but I think readers will get a kick out of.

I am also working on the first chapter of Crosshairs and it should be posted soon.

* * *

**When Love Came Down**

"My stitches got pulled," Neal was sitting at his desk, fussing over his shirt, which now had several small drops of blood on it around where his arm had been cut.

"I think you'll live Caffrey, but in case your arm needs to be amputated in the future," Diana pulled out her pocketknife and flipped it open. "I'll be sure to sterilise this first."

Neal instinctively pulled away from her Cheshire smile. "I'm good."

"If he whines about his arm again I may let you," Peter walked by carrying a few folders in his hands.

Neal's eyes snapped up. "Peter, you'd side with her? Where is your integrity?"

"Apparently since meeting you, I've learned that sometimes the rules need to be bent a little?" Peter raised his eyebrows.

His gaze drifted back down and Neal put on a pout. "And you pick this time to actual take my advice?"

"Relax, blood cleans out of fabric with just a little hydrogen peroxide." Peter shrugged and turned back to his paperwork.

"This is a silk shirt Peter. Dry clean only."

"See. Problem solved."

"You getting too much enjoyment out of my misery."

"It's a few drops of blood Neal. You're fine." Peter began to walk away.

"One of these days some really horrible is going to happen, and you're going to feel very badly about this abusive treatment." Neal called after him.

Peter turned back around. "Neal, I flew several thousand miles and risked my job to bring you home. Don't accuse me of not caring."

"Well when you put it like that." Neal turned back to his shirt, plucking at the couple spots of blood.

"I want your report by the end of the day." Peter called out from his office.

"You're all heart." Neal shouted back causing several agents to turn and look.

* * *

Peter was sitting in his office when Kramer walked in.

"Petey."

The agent glanced up. "Phil. Getting ready to head back to Washington?"

"My flight leaves this evening."

"Hope it's a safe trip." Peter turned his attention back to his paperwork.

"I will admit Caffrey did help bring this case home."

"I sense a but?" Peter leaned back in his chair, resisting the urge to put his feet up on his desk.

"You trust him too much Peter." Kramer sat down in the chair across from Peter. "Look, you've made it quite clear you don't care about my opinion, or that I had good intentions when I wanted to take Neal to Washington. Fine. That's your choice. You're not my probie anymore Peter. I can't order you to stop making a stupid decision."

"This is supposed to help mend our relationship?"

"No. The point is I'm not going to try anymore. You want to choose a criminal over the FBI that's your choice to make, even if it was a stupid one. Just know that when all this comes raining down on your head I'm not going to try to help you." Kramer was staring across the desk, his eyes slightly narrowed.

"Considering last time you tried to help I almost lost my job I'll take your offer." Peter leaned forward to meet Kramer's gaze.

"I'm sorry things have to be this way. At least we got the bad guys together once more. For old times sake."

"San Lorenzo called to offer their thanks at recovering their painting. They're looking forward to restoring it to its former glory above the oratory alter."

Kramer got to his feet. "I guess this is goodbye Petey." He held out his hand.

Although Peter wasn't sure how he felt about how things were ending he took the other man's hand and shook it. "Safe trip."

Kramer was just at the door when he turned around. "Oh and tell Caffrey that FBI staff are forbidden from collecting reward money pertaining to any case because I know he was asking." With that he left, ignoring the other agents in the room as he headed for the elevator.

In a way it was sad for Peter to watch him go. He and Kramer had been more than colleagues they had been friends. But Kramer forced him to choose between himself and Neal, and Peter knew Neal was capable of so much more than most people believed. It was just a shame Kramer couldn't see beyond the shiny veneer to see the real man Neal was.

Looking down at the bullpen Peter noticed Neal staring up at him and smirking. Gloating was never becoming so Peter quickly mouthed, g_et to work_, motioning with his finger for Neal to get back to his reports.

* * *

Aside from shopping for 'The Gift' Christmas was one of Peter's favourite times of year. Sometimes he and El travelled to visit family, but this year they were staying home since it would be Ender's first Christmas as a member of the family. Visiting Peter's parents would be added pressure after the Thanksgiving fiasco, and visiting El's parents…well, it was bad enough trying to fake gratitude to Mrs. Mitchell's about her customary sweater over the phone, and it was even harder in person.

Peter hadn't woken up early on Christmas since he was little. Usually he and El spent some time together just cuddling before going down to eat breakfast and then opening presents.

This year Peter was actually looking forward to getting up early, just to see Ender's reaction to the tree.

One of the traditions Peter had grown up with was that his parents didn't put most of the presents under the tree until Christmas Eve after the kids had gone to bed. Not all the presents were from Santa Claus, but there was something magical about suddenly seeing a pile of gifts under a tree that, when they went to bed, was devoid of packages.

Apparently Ender didn't get the memo about the rules of kids and Christmas because he was still curled up into a little ball in his bed, wrapped around Demo.

"Peter, don't wake him." El scolded, as she peeked over his shoulder.

"What kind of kid doesn't get up early on Christmas? It's probably the only time I woke up before my parents."

"The kind who probably never had a Christmas to wake up to."

Peter had to agree with that. The Martins certainly didn't make Christmas very memorable, and Peter didn't know what the other foster families would have been like, but if they had lots of kids in the home, who knows what each child got.

In the kitchen, Peter kept nursing his coffee and staring at the clock. Ender was actual a morning person, usually rising with the sun, but somehow he had missed the memo that on Christmas 4:30 in the morning was a more acceptable wake-up time.

Around 5:30 Ender actually wondered into the kitchen still in his pyjamas, clutching Demo in his left hand, and his golden hair in a halo around his little face.

"Merry Christmas kiddo." Peter put the coffee cup down.

Ender just stopped for a moment and stared at Peter then looked around the kitchen in confusion.

"You're awake." He stated, almost confused.

"And you're late." Peter told him.

The kid looked at the kitchen clock, then at his watch then back at Peter. "It's 5:30. I always get up at 5:30."

"It's Christmas," Peter repeated.

Ender just stared at him, with wide eyes, before sticking his thumb into his mouth, and nervously fingering his pant leg.

El walked over and slapped Peter on the arm. "Would you stop scaring the poor kid? He doesn't know all your ridiculous rules."

She walked over and scooped Ender into her arms. He wrapped on of his around her neck, keeping the other in his mouth, Demo dangling from his fingertips. "Ignore Daddy. He's having flashbacks to his childhood and SHOULD NOT BE PUTTING HIS OWN UNRESOVLED ISSUES ONTO YOU." She said the last part noticeably louder and to Peter.

Peter just rolled his eyes. These were the times El actually acted like she was raised by a shrink.

El ran her fingers through the kid's hair, trying to smooth it down, and then walked out to the living room. "Didn't you see what Santa brought you?"

"Thanta isthn't threal." Peter heard, obviously around the thumb. Maybe he should have written a litter to Santa asking for a way to help the kid break that nervous habit. Of course it was partly his own fault for scaring the kid. When it wasn't some deliberately planned mischief, Ender seemed very nervous about disappointed them.

Peter traipsed behind and watched as El stood in front of the tree. "What do you think? Someone was pretty good this year."

Peter almost laughed when the kid's thumb practically fell out of his open mouth. He just stared at the pile of presents both underneath and piled around the tree, most wrapped expertly by El in brightly coloured paper and ribbon.

"Those are for me?" The kid still hadn't moved.

Joining them in front of the tree, Peter reached out and tickled the kid's neck. "Unless you want us to return them. I mean, it's going to be a lot of work to unwrap everything. You're risking paper cuts."

Ender pushed away indicating he wanted to be put on the ground. "Can I open something now?" He asked in an awed voice.

"I guess we could allow you to open one. The rest are just for show, so the tree looks pretty when we take family pictures." Peter told him then a second later rubbed his arm where El had punched him pretty hard. "Ow."

The kid stepped forward almost reverently, looking around at the pile of gifts. Then he turned back around looking almost frightened. "Which one am I supposed to open first?"

El stepped forward. "It really doesn't matter. But why don't you open your stocking." She pointed to the fireplace where five stockings hung from the mantel.

Peter helped him take it down considering the stocking was rather heavy and Ender was still too short to reach the hook. Ender glanced over at the others. "You buy presents for Satchmo."

"Those are from Santa." Peter informed him and Ender gave him a rather pointed look.

"Satchmo was our baby before we got you. We needed someone to spoil."

Ender just shrugged, then in a very uncharacteristic and childlike gesture suddenly tipped the entire thing upside down and let the contents fall to the floor. Out spilled candy, and little handheld games and puzzles, tumbling across the carpet.

Ender dropped down to examine his treasures. Then in a more normal behaviour pattern for him organised everything into neat little rows, and grouped by like objects. One day Peter would figure out the reasons behind this almost obsessive need to organise everything.

They were partway through unwrapping gifts when there was a knock at the door. Peter had told Neal to arrive early if he wanted any part in presents, and Neal had informed Peter that he bossed him around enough at the office and it wasn't fair to ruin his Christmas as well.

Neal must have at least taken him partly seriously because he was still here early, and with presents in hand.

Ender's face lit up when he saw Neal. "Nealcen." He jumped up and ran over, the strings of ribbons and bows hung around his necks necklaces. "What did you bring me?"

Peter's draw dropped. "Manners young man."

"Please what did you bring me?" Ender emphasized the please.

"We're working on that." Peter just shook his head, but Neal didn't seem bothered.

"These are for Peter, El and Satchmo. But I'm sure Satchmo wouldn't mind sharing his dog biscuits with you."

"That's okay. I'm still _their_ favourite." And Ender turned his attention back to his own gifts. There was a new bicycle and skateboard, along with knee and elbow pads and a helmet that Peter thought would probably never be worn. A new game system, with games from the grandparents. Books and legos and puzzles and anything else a six year old might find cool. From June he got a new ipad. She bought them for all the grandkids and decided Ender needed one as well.

It reminded Peter of his own childhood where wrapping paper was everywhere, except now he was the parent trying to capture everything on film. Satchmo excitedly snapped at the paper and ribbons, then settled down at El's feet to chew on one of his new bones.

El was speechless when she opened Peter's present, staring at the contents for a long moment. "Peter, it's beautiful."

Ender abandoned the legos he was building into what Peter suspected was a machine gun to join her on the couch. "I'll helped mummy. Look that's me." He pointed at the bead with the dragon. "And that's when you got married, and that's Neal, and the rest are a whole bunch of things Daddy said was important, but I don't know because I wasn't here yet."

El had tears in her eyes. "And that must be Satchmo, and that's our trip to London. Oh, Peter I can't believe you remembered all this."

Peter fought to keep the blush off his cheeks. "I'm not completely clueless El." Then he paused. "So, you like it."

"I love it. It's absolutely perfect." She carefully took it out and Peter helped he with the clasp.

Neal looked on, amused. "Handcuffs Peter, seriously? You couldn't find anything else to represent me."

"It's something memorable that happened each year we were married. Me catching you was memorable."

"I should have been hat." Neal muttered snidely.

El just laughed and gave him a shove. "I think it's perfect. Very you Neal."

Ender decided the excitement was over because he went back to his legos.

Peter and El looked at each other then over at the kid. "I think you forgot one present." Peter told him.

Ender looked around confused. He moved the wrapping paper about.

"No I didn't."

"You sure?" Peter asked.

The kid glanced around again, and then nodded.

"Check the basement."

Ender looked over to the door but didn't move. "Are you guys going to lock me down there?"

"What," Peter looked very surprised by that. "No. In fact, well go down with you."

Ender cautiously walked down the stairs, and then looked back to ensure everyone was actually following him. It wasn't until he decided everyone couldn't rush back up and lock him in that he went all the way down looking around.

Suddenly he gasped. There, laying a little bed with a heating pad because the basement was cool, was a little puppy curled up asleep. "You got me a puppy?"

He carefully stepped forward and knelt down in front of the bed. The puppy had a bow around its neck, with a tag attached. On the tag El had, had Neal write _To: Ender, From: Santa_ in old-fashioned script.

The puppy seemed to wake up and look around. Ender reached out a careful hand to pet it, and the puppy struggled to its feet wagging a stubby little tail.

"What is it, a rat?" Neal asked and Peter stomped hard on his foot. "Why'd you do that?"

"Don't be a jerk. He likes it."

"And I ask again, what is it?"

"It's a miniature pincher." Peter hissed. "El picked it out."

"Manly." Neal smirked.

"Nealcen look. It's a puppy. It was just like you said." He hugged the thing tightly. Then he turned to Peter and El. "Thank you so much. I'm going to take such good care of him, I promise. You won't have to do anything." With that he rushed upstairs, most likely to introduce the puppy to Satchmo.

Everyone followed him back up where Ender was currently holding the puppy to Satchmo's nose, letting the two of them sniff each other. Neal grinned and then walked over picking up the controller of Ender's new video game system. "Ten bucks says I can beat you."

Ender whirled around. "You're on." He rushed over, shoved the puppy at Peter, who barely managed to grasp it before it fell. "Hold him for me." Then he was off the grab the other controller and bicker with Neal over which characters they would choose.

"So much for, 'you won't have to do anything'." Peter looked down at the puppy, debating how long he would have to hold it before he passed it off to El. "Merry Christmas."

* * *

**A/N**: I debated for a long time on what type of puppy to get, but decided on a min pin because Ender wanted a little dog and they're called the king of the toys and seemed sort of manly. In other words something Peter would consider being seen walking.


	17. The Thirteenth Day of Christmas

**A/N:** An extra little snippet that didn't quite fit in before because it would break of the continuity of the last chapter. If you're a Kramer fan you might want to skip this one. Also a couple swear words, which I don't like using in my stories, but seemed appropriate to the situation. Oh,and please no one actually try this yourselves. Am almost finished with the first chapter of Crosshairs and hope to have it posted later today.

* * *

**The Thirteenth Day of Christmas**

Kramer exited the elevator and into the lobby, pulling his suitcase behind him. It was nice to finally be headed back to DC. Visiting New York wasn't quite as enjoyable as he thought it would be. A part of him lamented the loss of his friendship with Peter, but another part felt like the at this point he needed to wash his hands of the entire mess.

He was almost at the door when he heard his name being called, and turned back around. Ender stood there, but it took Kramer a second to see him because he had to look down.

"Come to scream at me one more time?" Kramer asked the kid. "I'm leaving, so you can go back to ruling your little kingdom in peace." He gestured around at the lobby, full of people milling about.

Ender looked down for a moment uncertain. "Actually I am here to apologise for calling you the devil. It was very mean of me and I shouldn't have said it."

"Did Peter tell you to come say that?"

The kid kicked at the ground with his foot. "Welll… Maybe, but it still wasn't a nice thing for me to say, because you did come here to help put the bad people in jail, and I wasn't supposed to be playing with the tapes anyway."

"Well I appreciate you're apology, that is very gentlemanly of you."

Ender puckered his lips for a moment as if thinking what to say next. "So I hope you have a safe trip back to DC and that your plane doesn't crash, or you don't die a horrible tragic death or anything. Because that would kind-of suck to happen right before Christmas."

"Um, thank you?" Kramer wasn't quite sure what to say that little speech.

"Don't mention it." And then Ender turned on his heels and flounced away, completely ignoring the security line and jumping around other people, to use the ratchet bar of the turnstile like a trapeze bar, swinging underneath to the underside and sprinting away before security could say anything.

"At least he doesn't hate me." Kramer said to himself before exiting the building and flagging down a taxi to take him to the airport.

* * *

Although it was late when he got back to DC the older agent headed into the office, knowing a lot of his agents still be there.

Agent Melissa Matthews was sitting at her desk, typing something on her computer; probably some sort of case report. She greeted Kramer with a smile and rose to her feet to welcome him back.

Finally, he was back to a place where his expertise, and presence was appreciated.

"Congratulations Agent Kramer. Everyone's talking about it. The Nativity. The Director down even called to offer his congratulations for the recovery," she gushed, even though it was a little out of character.

"It's a big win," Kramer conceded. "That's one painting I didn't think we'd ever recover." He parked his luggage in the corner and dropped down at his desk to begin checking his phone and email messages.

"And what was it like working with Caffrey again?" Even though he had conned her, the agent still had a slight crush on the man, evidenced by her slightly breathy voice. Kramer might not like it, but he knew if Neal didn't have that ability he wouldn't be such a great conman.

"Caffrey was his usual charming self. Burke still fawns over him like a little prince. I hate to say it, but there will not be a happy end to that relationship."

Matthews looked like she was debating Kramer's words when suddenly her gaze shifted to the side and she screamed at the top of her lungs. "Snake. Oh my god there is a snake in your office." She was dancing around and pointing over at the corner.

If it had been someone else Kramer might have thought this a joke, but Agent Matthews wasn't the type to play pranks. He whipped around to see if he might have misjudged her only shove himself backwards, his escape hindered by his desk as the chair ran into it.

"Oh my god, shit. What the hell?" Kramer swore, standing up and edging away.

The snake was coiled up, except for its head, which was flattened out at the neck, slowly swaying back and fourth and hissing at the two agents.

"It's a fucking cobra," Mathew's shrieked. "That's a cobra, there's a cobra in your office." There was a moments pause where she seemed too panicked to move and then she was out the door screaming, "Cobra. Someone call animal control, a cobra got into the building."

Kramer was pretty sure cobras were only native to India and parts of China and had no idea how one could have gotten into FBI headquarters let along his office, but that didn't stop him from exiting the room as fast as possible, slamming the door behind him.

Agent Matthew's could still be heard, down the hall, screaming for someone to call animal control.

Kramer decided afterwards it might not have been the best idea to run out of his own office in a panic. The other agents might think a girl freaking out over a snake was her overreacting, but not their boss.

All the other agents had to do was take a look at Kramer's pale face before there was a mass exodus for the door to Art Crimes.

* * *

Peter turned on the TV hoping to catch some football scores, but settling for the late night news. Working long hours at the office often meant he had to wait to find out important details, like where the Giants were in the standings.

Hopefully some scores would be posted at the end, but in the meantime he decided to see if anything of interest had occurred that might be newsworthy besides the usual doom and gloom.

"And in National news," the announcer began saying, "The FBI's DC headquarters had to be evacuated this evening around seven, on reported sightings of a King Cobra inside the building." The footage shifted to outside the DC offices where people were seen standing around in the dark, many shivering without their coats.

"After a two hour search, animal control caught the serpent, which turned out to be a _Heterodon platirhinos _or Eastern Hognose snake. Hognose snakes are actually native to this area, non-venomous, and completely harmless to humans, however they are often mistaken for a cobra due to their ability to flatten out the skin around their neck when threatened, very similar to that of the venomous King Cobra indigenous to India.

Animal control is uncertain how the snake got into the building, although they speculate it simply wanted a warm place to stay during the winter months. The snake was successfully removed without harm and is now being cared for by a local breeder."

Footage shifted from the female announcer back to the front of headquarters where people were cheering as animal control walked out of the building carrying a plastic case with small air vents, which must have held the snake.

Peter stared at the television for quite a long period of time, long after the news had ended and a late night talk show began.

Then, "ENDER!"


End file.
